


Helplessness Blues

by Aria_Masterson1153



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But not because this is Marnthews and feelings are always reciprocated, Everything's italicized because Mitch's thoughts are EMPHATIC, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mitch watches Astronomy Docs, Not an AU- our idiots are still hockey players, Pining Idiots, Songwriter!Auston, drunk talks, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-25 02:38:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14369106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Masterson1153/pseuds/Aria_Masterson1153
Summary: If Auston could edit his bio on NHL.com, he expects it would resemble something like this:Auston Matthews: first overall pick to the Toronto Maple Leafs, beer pong extraordinaire, and writer of many brooding songs pertaining to his cock-blocking crush on his best friend, and best person in general, Mitch Marner.He thinks it kind of has a nice ring to it.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Summary in Auston's POV but the story's in Mitch's POV lol byeeee  
>   
> *Title from the Fleet Foxes song of the same name*  
> 

Of all places, it starts in Rosedale. 

The small suburb north of downtown Toronto that they came to on a whim. Because for all they are both millionaires, and could easily afford any of the houses around them, there’s still something to be said for just walking down a side street and admiring rich people’s houses. 

“That one’s nice,” Auston murmurs from Mitch’s right, the two of them huddled close to try and fight off the biting cold of Toronto in November. 

It’s a large- _but not ostensibly_ \- sized house with a darkened greyscale palette. It has an open-theme, with large windows complimenting the modern boxy style to the house. 

It’s something he could see them living in, with a family of their own. 

_Fuck._

It’s nice to do this, the two of them, without any interruptions. But it’s also _so_ not, because Mitch’s mind wanders, and wanders _fast_. Then he’s thinking forbidden things about his best friend and best person in general, accompanied with the bitterness of his eventual disappointment. 

“Classy Matts, very classy,” he responds cheekily, trying to smother the sting of disappointment in his chest. “Is that the kind of house a captain would have? You’re moving up in the world, may as well show it,” he says mischievously, laughing when he watches Auston’s lips pinch as his cheeks darken with a delicate blush. 

Auston’s newly appointed captaincy is Mitch’s new favourite thing to make fun of, purely for the bashful expressions Auston can never control when he brings it up. And Auston Matthews; number one pick, hockey god of Toronto? Bashfulness is a first for him, definitely. 

“Fuck off,” Auston responds, without any real heat, as he bumps Mitch back. “I’m just saying, it would be a nice place for...I don’t know, a family,” he murmurs evenly as his eyes jerk away from Mitch’s contact. 

And, _oh_. He’ll take ‘the scathing disappointment of my crush wanting to settle down with a nice family in Rosedale, because never in a fucking million years would he consider that I’m in love with him’ for 1,000, Alex. 

“Yeah,” Mitch whispers, slightly hoarse at his realization. He needs to stop hoping for the impossible. Matts doesn’t love him back, and that’s okay. 

_It’s really not, the absolute opposite of okay,_ but he needs to learn to deal with that. 

Auston and his weird fucking Mitch spidey sense can tell that something just shifted, but for some reason he thinks better of pressing it. 

Auston clears his throat, and they continue down the side street quietly, both of their eyes locked in front of them, not daring to turn back and look at the house that awoke their inner domestic house-wife mindset.

“I like this one,” Mitch says jokingly, desperate to lift the mood. He can handle his own crush-induced moodiness, but he can’t handle the way Auston’s gone quiet and contemplative. 

It’s a massive mansion, a statement piece that screams ‘I’m rich, come rob me’ or ‘don’t fuck with us during the purge.’ It’s like a fucking fortress, a ludicrous monument that probably only houses four people, though its size indicates at least 30. 

There’s a gate that surrounds the entire property, and Mitch can see the beginnings of a squash court in the back, near their olympic-regulation pool. It’s overwhelmingly boastful, and Mitch nearly erupts into laughter at the absurdness of it all. 

Instead, Auston laughs for the both of them, glancing up at the monstrous stucco walls. “No you don’t,” he responds immediately, shaking his head. “This is so not your style it hurts.” 

He’s completely right, of course, but Mitch can’t help pushing further. “Oh yeah, and just exactly _what_ would I like?” 

And shut up. He can’t help it, okay? He knows flirting with Auston is the exact _opposite_ of what he should be doing to dampen his crush, but he’s not a saint. Never will be. 

And when Auston’s looking at him, nose pink from the cold, and bundled up like the desert-born hockey player that he is? Mitch really can’t be blamed, can he? 

He catches Auston’s smile widening as he lifts his gloved fingers. “One,” he lifts his pointer finger, “you absolutely hate displays of wealth, which is why you still wear your high-school clothes with the exception of game-day suits.” 

Mitch opens his mouth to object, because he had a fucking baller sense of style in high-school, thank you very much, when Auston continues over him. 

“ _Two_ ,“ Auston emphasizes as he lifts his next finger to join his pointer finger, “your idiotic self would lose all of your shit all over the house and not be able to find it.” 

Which, true. Mitch concedes that one. 

“And three,” Auston’s voice softens as he raises his ring finger. “Because that’s too much space for you to live in. You’d get lonely, even if...even if you had married an amazing partner. It’s just too much for you, Marns.” He finishes his hushed answer by dropping his eyes to the sidewalk that was still dusted with snow. 

His cheeks are pinker as well, and Mitch can’t help but think about how much he wants to bundle Auston into his neck to keep him warm.

When Mitch can stop focusing on Auston for more than two seconds, the weight of what he said settles in Mitch’s brain. His stomach tightens correspondingly. 

Mitch thinks back to their late-night confessions to each other, back in rookie year. When the pressure was getting to be too much, when they felt they had no one else to talk to. There had been their hushed voices carrying over shitty iPhone speakers, and the security of the midnight darkness that aided in their candid conversations.

This had been one of his confessions; Mitch’s constant need to be around people. When everyone left, his internal pressures mounted against him until he couldn’t get out of his own head. The pressures would accumulate until they became all-consuming, a horrible reminder of the insecurities he still had in himself. They would fester until someone finally pulled him out of it, more often than not Matts. 

He remembers their conversations, because who wouldn’t treasure the fact that their crush was confessing their deepest, darkest fears and secrets to them before they went to bed. At that time, if he willed it hard enough, he could nearly pretend that they were in a relationship. 

But for Auston to remember the conversations as Mitch had? That nearly shatters him. He feels completely exposed, vulnerable to his core. 

Auston cares enough about him to remember things he was told in confidence, and that...that's _really_ flattering. Mitch can feel his face heat up as he tries not to squeal in overwhelmed joy.

“Auston,” he whispers, unable to control the softness in his voice. “You remembered.” 

Auston’s eyes flicker back to his. “You’re important to me Marns, so are your fears. Of course I would never forget.” 

And fuck, Mitch is going to do something he (probably) will regret. He can tell already. 

There’s no buffer between them, no obnoxious Willy or Marty to break up the stifling tension he’s feeling as he looks into Auston’s eyes. He really hopes he’s not projecting too much, because he’s already dedicating the majority of his limited brain power to keep his legs planted, so he doesn’t lean in kiss the fuck out of Auston Matthews. 

They’re in some weird sort of tension-filled bubble, with the two of them still staring at each other. Mitch can’t believe how close they are, and the way that Auston slightly blocks the sun out of Mitch’s eyes with his height difference. Auston’s head is tilted downwards, with the way he’s slightly looking down at Mitch, and it would be easy, so _fucking easy_ , to lean up and lay one on him. 

Too easy.

Something with that many negative ramifications should never be that easy. 

The thought sends him out of his brain and back to the present. Auston’s still looking at him, and wets his lips with his tongue as if he didn’t already have all of Mitch’s focus. Mitch’s eyes lower as they track the movement, and when they lift back up to Auston’s, they make eye contact again, and Auston’s are slightly pinched, bearing an unreadable expression. 

He must be uncomfortable. With Mitch staring at him as if he were a piece of meat. Of course he would be. 

The thought spurs him into his previously thought out action, reaching out to capture Auston in a tight hug. Because of his position, his head ends up at the base of Auston’s throat. And how _easy_ it would be, to press a featherlight kiss onto the junction at which Mitch can see Auston’s pulse thudding.

 _Too easy_ , too many repercussions.

He squeezes Auston’s stiff form. “Thanks Aus,” he murmurs, and hopes he keeps the love-sick disgustingness out of his voice. 

Auston relaxes after a moment and sighs, winding his arms around Mitch. He can still feel the heat of Auston’s body, even through the jacket. “You’re my best friend,” Auston murmurs back in a slightly strangled tone. 

He gets it, feelings are a tough thing for Auston. If anyone would get it, he would. 

He breaks the hug, and gestures down the street with false cheeriness. “Wanna keep going?” He questions, in an attempt to distract himself from the want that is curling its way through his belly. 

“Sure,” Auston shrugs, and they continue down the street quietly. Apart from a few passing comments on houses as they walk, they’re both relatively quiet, with Auston not speaking unless spoken to. 

It worries Mitch. Auston’s not the most talkative person to begin with, and he accepted a long time ago that he would have to be the more loquacious of the two, but this is different. He really hopes that his stupid face and expressive eyes didn’t give anything away. 

“This one’s cute,” Auston mumbles as he gestures half-heartedly to a smaller, cottage style house. 

It’s some shit out of Hansel and Gretel and Mitch loves it. There’s even ivy winding along the sides of the house, adding to the rustic beauty of it. 

He catches the way Auston smiles adorably at the little gnomes arranged in the front of the yard, looking completely like a kid that just got a new lego set. Mitch can’t help his own reciprocating smile. 

“Yeah, gorgeous,” he responds breathlessly, and if he’s not talking about the house, then who’s to know? Not Auston, that’s for sure, his attention is already captured by the battle line of gnomes protecting the side entrance to the house.

Auston walks a bit closer to the house, and then glances back at Mitch to make sure he’s following. “I wonder if the owners are looking outside and wondering what the hell we’re doing,” Auston says as he stifles a fucking _giggle_ , and Mitch is honestly just done with today. 

Except for the fact that he also kind of wants it to never end. 

“Imagine if they recognized us?” Mitch adds, laughing as well. “El capitan and his bestie, house-shopping? It’d be fucking legendary.” 

Auston breaks down into laughter at his statement, and Mitch wonders just how much crazier they look now. His eyes glance over the house and front yard. Though it’s winter and everything’s practically dead, Mitch can imagine how beautiful it would look in the summer, with lush plants framing the yard and an expanse of green grass in the front. 

Then he spies the front patio off to the side of the house, presumably where the garden would be. Obviously it furthers his day dreams, imagining Auston shirtless, cutting the grass, while Mitch plays with the kids on the front patio. Auston glancing over his shoulder to share a small, private smile with Mitch to commiserate their perfect lives.

_Ugh._

Fuck, he really needs to stop doing this to himself. 

He watches as Auston shivers, trying to mask it as he shifts his weight. 

“Cold?” Mitch questions, with an amused smile once Auston jumps at his voice. 

“You saw that, hm?” Auston questions sheepishly. 

_I’m in fucking love with you, of course I can’t take my eyes away from you for more than two seconds._

Instead, he shakes his head and laughs, feeling his lips pull into a happy smile. He must look completely deranged, because Auston’s lips pull into a small, fond smile. It seems involuntary, and that makes Mitch smile all the more. 

“You can leave the desert, but the desert will never leave you,” Mitch says as he jokingly pulls Auston’s toque over his eyes. 

“Hey, don’t fuck with the hair!” Auston yells as he swats at Mitch, curling into himself protectively. Mitch takes this prime opportunity to try to tackle him to the snowbank behind him. 

“Sorry, forgot that you need every precious strand of your fucked up hairline,” Mitch huffs as he tightens his lock over Auston’s wiggling body.

When Auston manages to break Mitch’s hold and lift the toque back over his head, there’s no other way to describe his expression except _affronted_. That, combined with the tuffs of flattened hair that managed to poke out of the toque send Mitch into a riotous fit of laughter. 

He can hear it’s his ugly laugh, the one where he’s sucking in air loudly and practically screaming in an uncontrolled burst of laughter. He doesn’t care though. This is just way too gold. 

“I told you that in confidence!” Auston shouts at him, angrily shoving the traitorous hair strands back into the confines of his toque. 

Honestly, Auston should know by now that would set him off even further. 

He’s bent at the waist now, laughing uncontrollably though there’s no sound coming out. He can feel tears freezing on his cheeks, and he’s sure his face is an awe-inspiring combination of pink and purple. 

“You-you,” Mitch attempts to stutter out, breathless as he points to Auston. 

Auston rolls his eyes in response. “You-you-you’re such a fucking dick Marns,” he states in an annoyed tone, though his eyes look fond in humour. “See how you act in my situation,” he mumbles as he adjusts his hat. 

“I’ll have a lot of time to think about what I’ll do,” Mitch chirps back breathlessly. “Seeing as I won’t have to deal with it for another 40 years!” He says as the laughter ratchets up again. 

When he glances back up at Auston through the tears in his eyes, he meets the patented bitch face of the new Leafs captain. If anything, it has the complete opposite effect. 

Even Auston, staring at Mitch laughing at him, can’t even keep a straight face. He rolls his eyes as an amused smile breaks out across his face as shoves him into the snowbank viciously. 

Before Mitch can even remove his face from its specially imprinted spot in the side of the snowbank to give Auston shit for being an asshole, his breath is knocked out of him. Obviously, because Auston just WWE’d his ass with the entirety of his 6’3, 230, sexy ass frame. 

Mitch really can’t find it in himself to be mad, all things considered. 

Even as Auston grabs the back of his jacket to ragdoll his face in and out of Mitch’s facial imprint in the snowbank. 

“You laughing now, fucker?” Auston murmurs as he facewashes Mitch one last time in the snow. 

“I...would...if...I could...breathe...for more...than...two...seconds!” Mitch huffs in between reunions with his imprint in the snow. 

“Oh shit, sorry buddy,” Auston says earnestly, because he’s so fucking easy for guilt trips, and the ragdolling ceases immediately. “You okay?” 

Mitch spends a few seconds fake-panting into his imprint, and waits for the moment Auston relaxes against him. When he feels it, in a totally unsurprising show of strength, because he lifts _super heavy_ now; thank you very much, he flips them over so he’s straddling Auston’s midsection. 

When he looks down at Auston, he feels his breath punch out of him in a little huff. Auston, he looks...stunning, there’s no other word for it. His toque’s fucked up again, but his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes...they’re _shining_. 

He can’t help the hand that he plants in the snow next to Auston’s face. He needs to steady himself because he feels like he’s about to fall over...and would that really be such a bad thing? 

Auston’s beginning to smile, and it would be-

Easy. It would be too easy. Mitch isn’t good enough for something as easy as this. 

Mitch shakes the snow of off his face, and Auston scrunches his eyes as some of it falls on his face. When Auston cracks an eye open, his lips purse in an attempt to contain his laughter. 

“How red did you make my face, asshat?” Mitch sighs. 

Auston takes a moment, pondering if he wants to be a good bro or a douche like he always is. All the while, Mitch is still straddling his waist, and still attempting to attain the sheer will of god to not get hard.

Then Auston snorts, and Mitch knows he’s gonna be a douche, because only douches find their own insults funny.

_(Mitch would appreciate it very much if his laughing fit over Auston’s cute, but fucked, hairline could be removed from this conversation. Thanks.)_

“Your face kinda looks like a baboon’s asshole, to be honest,” Auston murmurs seriously, as if he wasn’t giggling about his comment like, 5 seconds ago.

And Mitch’s response?

He figures a handful of snow to the face would do the trick.

\-----/-----

When they manage to tear themselves away from their impromptu snow war, which mostly consisted of them trying to shove ice-ridden snowballs into each other’s faces, the sun was starting to set.

“You hungry?” Auston questions as they walk back to his parked car, his breath coming out in puffs as the sun set and the temperature dropped further.

Well, that was a stupid question to ask Mitch, and he voices it as such.

“Alright,” Auston surrenders as he raises his hands. “Do you know any places around here?”

Mitch gives himself a second to glance around. Another second. “Dude I’m not gonna lie, I really don’t know where the fuck we are right now. Can’t say I’ve eaten around here before.”

“Helpful,” Auston scoffs sarcastically and barely misses Mitch’s responding swat at the back of his head. “I’ll check google, do you care about walking around?”

“Nah, I’m down for whatever,” and he was, truly, as long as he could keep hanging out with Auston.

“Cool,” Auston speaks calmly as he unlocks his phone. And then, like the grandpa he is, mumbles ‘restaurants around me,’ into his phone.

Mitch feels so fond all he can do is roll his eyes and try not to burst.

“Mortar and Petal,” Auston reads aloud. “Sounds cool, they even have an outdoor patio.”

Mitch has to physically stop himself before he smacks Auston again. Fuck, he was dense sometimes. Instead, he over exaggeratedly gestures to the snow covered area around them, hoping that Auston gets the hint.

“Oh, true,” he murmurs, unfazed, once he realizes it’s decidedly _not_ patio weather. “Still though, it looks cute,” he says as he leans over to show Mitch pictures of the interior.

And it’s totally adorable. Fuck, he’s such a push-over when it comes to Auston. He’ll blame his mind-numbing crush for that one.

“Lead the way,” he sighs in return.


	2. Mortar and Petal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Ugh, I just want these two idiots to love, support, and fuck each other through this agonizing end to the playoffs. Gah, I hurt.  
>   
> Hope you enjoy, though. <3  
> 

 When they arrive on the front step of Mortar and Petal, they realize it’s more of a cute café than it is a restaurant. Still, Mitch has carried his freezing ass down here from the walk that Auston insisted on, so he’s entering this place and ordering an embarrassing amount of café food. It’s fine, he’s gotten used to the looks his massive appetite creates.

“Still down?” Auston murmurs as he holds the door open for him, as if Mitch has any say in the matter.

Mitch rolls his eyes and quickly walks in.

It’s…bumping.

Mitch is kind of surprised, to be totally honest. At 8pm on a Tuesday night? One would think it was a weekend with the amount of people crammed into the small café.

Still, he can understand the appeal. In a residential neighborhood filled with chain restaurants, this little hidden gem would stand out. With its artfully mismatched décor and choose-your-own-mug gimmick, the little café seems more at home in a bustling Queen West neighborhood than the quiet, sprawling Rosedale suburbia.

Mitch’s eyes search for a table, roaming over the packed tables clustered near a small make-shift stage. _Is there a performance happening tonight?_ He ponders the idea as his eyes lock on a table wedged into the back corner of the café. The view to the stage isn’t optimal, and he can understand why the table wasn’t snatched up.

However, for a couple of NHL players who were looking for a bit of privacy in an attempt to not get recognized in Toronto? It couldn’t have been more perfect, really.

Auston notices the table at the same time as Mitch does, and unceremoniously shoves him towards it. “Yeah jackass, I see it too,” Mitch huffs as he weaves around the people already sitting to nab the table.

Once they deposit their jackets in the chairs and grab a seat, Mitch realizes why the café is so filled. On top of the menus there’s a poster for an open mic event from 9 until 11pm.  Mitch lifts the poster and reads it over, with Auston craning over his shoulder to get a good look.

“Huh, cool,” Auston says in a sort of surprised tone, which, to the untrained ear, is his normal monotone with the slightest inflection of excitement.

“Right?” Mitch replies, flipping the poster over to get a good look at the lineup. “Did you bring me here just to slam-poem the shit out of me?” He shoots a small smile down at Auston, who’s already lounging in his chair, stretching his long legs out to Mitch’s side of the table.

Ah, the life of hockey players, always having to fight for leg room in cramped café tables. Well, tough shit if he thinks he’s won the territory, Mitch will have a nice surprise for him when he comes back with their drinks.

“I don’t need an audience for that,” Auston replies mischievously as he winks at Mitch.

Fuck. He’s not ready for that attractiveness this late in the day. Even though for all intents and purposes, Auston actually _can’t_ wink to save himself, and he looks more like a grandma who slipped you $50 behind your parent’s back, Mitch can’t help but feel flustered.

“You have your hot chocolate yet?” Mitch questions distractedly as he glances over the drink menu himself.

So what, Mitch knows that Auston only allows himself one hot chocolate a week during the winter; that it’s his biggest weakness apart from the shitty American beer he drinks during the summer. So what, he’s the only one on the team that Auston’s entrusted with this information. So what, the visual of Auston drinking hot chocolate like a little kid makes him simultaneously want to take a picture while squealing, and jumping him to see if he tastes like hot chocolate as well.

So what. _He’s dealing with it, okay_.

When Auston’s quiet for longer than his statement requires, Mitch glances over at him to find him flushing. “Yeah,” Auston whispers guiltily, and Mitch can’t help but smirk.

“You’re gonna have one anyway though, right?” Mitch hedges, because he knows how these battles go. All Mitch has to do is push, and Auston will crack eventually.

 Auston groans melodramatically. “Ugh, you’re gonna make me fat.”

“That’s not a ‘no’ Matts,” Mitch sing-songs back at him.

It takes a moment of contemplation before Auston sighs and shakes his head. “I’d really like…an earl gray tea, that would be awesome right now,” he forces out, doing a piss poor job of convincing himself, much less Mitch.

“You got it buddy,” Mitch responds, and it’s all he has in him to not smirk at the pained smile Auston returns.

On his way to the cash register, he stops at the line of mugs and surveys his options. It doesn't take long to find one that catches his eye, a medium sized [mug](https://www.funkypigeon.com/P_MUGEXT/1_Mug_Gardening_Marquee.jpg) that says ‘Susan digs gardening.’ He digs gardening too, so he figures he might as well live in solidarity with Susan. Also, he thinks the idea of someone getting a mug to commemorate their love of gardening is fucking hilarious, and should be celebrated.

The mug for Auston; however, is a bit of a tougher go. He wants to find a mug that simultaneously chirps him, but is also cute as fuck. He keeps his search going, until he spots the [perfect one](https://s1.thcdn.com/productimg/600/600/11591970-1564550660335755.jpg), tucked into a corner of the shelf. It’s obnoxious, it’s pink, and it says ‘crazy cactus lady’ on it in bolded script. What else? It’s perfect.

Apparently he and Auston have become suburban moms who love gardening, but that’s neither here nor there. He knows Auston’s going to _love_ it as much as he does.

The fact that he can’t see a lick of Leaf’s blue throughout the entire venue bodes well for tonight. Mitch has never been more thankful for Toronto hipsters that reject sports more than he is now. As he tacks onto the end of the drink line, he glances back at Auston, a muffled laugh bubbling out of him.

Without Mitch’s extroverted greatness, Auston’s fumbling with his phone, staring at his screen too long for something as quick as a text. Mitch can’t help his laugh then. This idiot, this absolute dolt that he’s in love with is pretending to text someone so he doesn’t have to look at the people around him because he’s an absolute dork. Mitch is so full of fondness it’s actually kind of pathetic.

When Auston raises his eyes quickly to check the status of Mitch’s position in line, Mitch tries, he really does, to smother his laughter. But he can’t help the fact that he’s caught Auston red-handed looking like a goof. And judging by Auston’s expression? He knows it too.

Mitch can see the way his cheeks flush, even from his position in line. It’s a lovely rosy flush that spreads down to his neck, and Mitch is defenceless against the smile that spreads in response, a genuine one that he couldn’t control even if he wanted to.

He gets a subtle middle finger in response before Auston intensely regards his phone again. Which is fine, Mitch still has chirping material for the future, so who’s the real winner here? Him, obviously. All sappy feelings aside, it’ll always be him winning something when he has Auston’s attention.

When he finally reaches the cash register, he understands why the café looks the way it does. And why the line took so long.

“Hiya suga’, well aren’t you just a sweet thing,” a round, red-haired woman beckons him towards the cash. Her mismatched apron and her wonky glasses add to her charm, and Mitch can only think of a rounder Ms. Frizzle when he looks at her. Her southern twang is as mismatched as anything in this place, be he’s learning that there’s a lot more to this place than meets the eye. “Now what can I get a cute little thing like you tonight?”

And he knows when he’s getting hit on by older women, he does. There was an embarrassing stint in the O that he really doesn’t like to talk about, regarding his classmates’ mothers. Let’s just leave it at that.

But as of right now, he can tell that she’s just genuinely being nice. That, and the fact that she keeps sending loving glances towards the older man that is setting up the mic stand at the makeshift stage; her husband, Mitch supposes.

“Hello, ma’am,” his mom would be so freaking proud, “how’s it going?” And cue the Canadian small talk that he can never seem to shake.

“Aren’t you just precious?” The woman squeals and reaches over to pinch his cheek. “Cute as a button you are.”

Mitch lets out a bashful laugh, his cheeks colouring like Auston’s had. “Thank you ma’am. Um,” he says, gesturing around to the packed area. “Do you guys do open mics often?”

The woman gives him a curious glance in response. “First time here, then? Yeah suga’, we do them every Tuesday on the dot.”

“Huh,” Mitch glances around at the rest of the customers; they seemed to be having a good time. Maybe this can be a new thing for him and Auston? A guaranteed hangout every week, schedule pending, of course. Mitch can’t think of anything better.

“-anything I can get you to drink?” He hears her cut off statement as he shakes himself from his thoughts.

“Oh, sorry,” Mitch begins, glancing behind him to see if there’s a line of angry customers. When he realizes it’s only him in line, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Um, I’ll have two medium hot chocolates please,” because he’s an amazing bro and would never willingly subject Auston to drinking fucking _tea_ while he enjoys hot chocolate. “But, may I have no whipped cream on one of them?” He thanks her with his ‘charming’ smile, the one he uses to get himself out of stupid drunk Mitch situations™.

“What’s your name, darling?” she questions as she grabs the two mugs he set on the counter, eying them with an amused smirk.

“Mitchell,” he smiles, cherishing the fleeting feeling of anonymity in the city that he grew up in.

“I’m Darlene, it’s a pleasure to meet you suga’,” Darlene speaks as she writes down his order.

“It’s nice to meet you too Darlene,” he replies genuinely with a wide smile, because it is nice to meet a new person who knows him as Mitchell, not _the_ Mitch Marner.

Darlene and Mitch share a laugh, as she clutches the top of her apron. “Oh ain’t you a heartbreaker, I can tell already, oh boy,” she laughs as she fans herself.

Mitch can only laugh in response. “How much do I owe you?” He questions as he reaches for his wallet.

“Oh hush,” Darlene dismisses him with a wave of her hand, as if the idea of Mitch paying is absurd. “It’s on the house, an official welcome to the Mortar and Petal.”

“Um, that’s really nice of you to offer, but I can pay-“ because really, he _can_ afford to pay for two hot chocolates in an independent café, especially with his shiny new contract.

“I’m sure you can darlin’, doesn’t mean I’m gonna let ya,” Darlene counters with practiced patience.

He smiles bashfully again, and pushes a $20 bill into the tip jar when he thinks she’s not looking. However, the glint of green stands out like a sore thumb amongst the silver of the loose change, and she spots it immediately.

“Heartbreaker, I’m tellin’ ya,” Darlene announces to an empty audience as she pats his cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. Your drinks will be just over at the end,” she gestures to a hand-off area where a bored teenager is working.

He gives her one last smile, and begins to turn away to walk towards the bar, only stopping when he hears her voice again.

“Oh, and Mitchell honey?” She calls out to him, making him turn back towards her. “Out of respect for our performers, our café does not allow any pictures or videos to be taken during operational hours.”

Which is…perfect. More than perfect, really. This place was shaping up to be a true hidden gem.

“Um, yeah that’s perfect, we won’t have any issue with that,” he says, trying not to smile too hard.

“Colour me surprised suga’, I didn’t think you would,” she answers in a sly tone. With one last wink to him, she turns back to continue with her work behind the til.

 

\-----/-----

 

“Fucking finally,” Auston seethes as Mitch returns with their drinks, sitting up straighter so his legs aren’t encroaching on Mitch’s territory.

“No need to be moody Aus,” Mitch begins impudently, “I wasn’t actually going to buy you a fucking tea.” He says cheerily as he lays down Auston’s hot chocolate, sans whipped cream of course, in front of his pouting figure.

He watches as Auston’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of the hot chocolate in front of him, cradling the mug between his large, strong hands. “I figured you were getting their whole fucking ancestral history, jesus. What the fuck took you so long?” He mumbles irritably as he stares into his hot chocolate.

He knows Auston’s grouchy because he had to stare at his phone like an idiot to avoid human interaction, instead of being fucking flawless like Mitch. It’s okay, he understands the burden Auston must carry on his shoulders with the quiet, mysterious persona he gives off to most strangers.

“Jealousy isn’t an attractive trait Matts,” Mitch parries back, just to rile him up even further.

He receives a well deserved eye-roll in response. “Figures you’d manage to find the only other person in Toronto who can run their mouth as much as you can,” he grumbles in an exasperated tone as he takes a sip out of his hot chocolate.

Mitch tries not to preen when he sees the unguarded bliss spreading across Auston’s face as he takes his first sip of hot chocolate. He knows this fucker too well.

“Yeah no problem Matts, you’re totally welcome for the hot chocolate I bought you because I know you so well,” Mitch says sarcastically, but he still can’t help his smile.

Auston can’t help his blush either, and he stares down into his drink as if it contains the answers to all global problems. “Thanks Mitch,” he says, tone flush with embarassment.

“See? I knew you had manners somewhere deep inside of you,” Mitch laughs as he takes a sip of his own hot chocolate and nearly groans out loud in pleasure. The hot chocolate is totally worth it, even knowing that Auston’s going to force himself on the bike to work it off. And because he’s a total baby, he’s gonna make Mitch do it too.

So, he’s going to savour the shit out of this thing while he can.

They’re silent for a few moments as they relish the first few sips of their hot chocolate. Until Mitch is practically vibrating with the need to discuss the mugs that he so painstakingly picked out for the two of them. Knowing Matts as the douchebag he is, Mitch knows the fucker is pointedly ignoring the mug, and any recognition Mitch will get as being a master mug picker. Sometimes he forgets, that as well as Mitch knows Auston, Auston knows him just as well.

“So,” Mitch prompts, shutting himself up once he sees Auston’s victorious smirk over the rim of his mug. The _fucker_ was waiting him out, he’s sure of it.

“One minute and thirty seven seconds, a lot more than I expected of you,” Auston snickers as he checks his watch.

“Shut up,” Mitch mutters sullenly, working towards the ever so effective Marner-to-Matthews guilt trip. To add to the performance, he glances over at Auston with his puppy eyes, which mostly consist of him staring at Auston blankly, but it’s still surprisingly effective so he’s not about to drop it from his arsenal.

Auston huffs loudly while rolling his eyes, and Mitch smirks, knowing he’s won. “Ha-ha, crazy cactus lady, with me being a ‘desert born creature,’” he quotes Mitch’s past term of endearment with exaggerated air quotations, “so ironic, so _hilarious_. Great choice Mitch, I can really see the effort you put into this selection.” Auston says sardonically.

“See, that wasn’t so difficult,” Mitch hums, pleased as all hell. “And just for the record, I would like to be referred to as Susan tonight,” he says, pointing at his own mug.

He hears Auston make a choking nose as he peers at the inscription on Mitch’s mug. When he raises his eyes, Mitch can see that they shine with the laughter he is so intent on internalizing.

In a strange display of sincerity, Auston lifts his mug to Mitch, his face set in a serious visage. “Well, cheers to you, Susan.”

Mitch snorts, completely unattractively, as he smirks at Auston’s statement. Auston’s façade is beginning to crack, as a playful grin starts to pull at the corners of his full lips. Mitch finds himself staring, before he forcefully rips his eyes away from the sight. “Damn straight,” he says as he knocks their mugs together.

It’s not long before they take one look at each other and begin to cackle like the dim-witted pre-schoolers they are.

 

\-----/-----

 

When the lights finally begin to dim, signaling the beginning of open mic, he’s nearly done his hot chocolate and considering another one. By the distressed glances he keeps catching Auston making towards his own mug, he can tell Auston’s considering it too.

However, their sad thoughts are broken once a teenager walks up to the stage. He’s cute, with shaggy, curly brown hair that strangely reminds him of the monstrosity that Chuky is currently sporting. Except he has the face to pull it off, unlike his former winger back in London. Smirking to himself, he settles in to listen to the boy’s introduction.

“Hi, I’m Daniel, and tonight I’ll be performing my poem, Sun It Rises,” the boy speaks nervously before he more confidently launches into the prose of his poem.

It’s beautiful. Mitch is kind of surprised at how much he loves it. For someone who never actively sought out poetry or open-mic nights, he’s in disbelief that it took him this long to find something he enjoys so much.

He can feel the small smile on his face as he gets lost in the bright, serene imagery of the poem. And then Auston’s poking his arm gently, startling Mitch out of the poem-enforced calmness to look over at him.

“What?” He whispers, leaning into Auston.

“This is…really nice, we should do this more often,” Auston murmurs back softly.

Mitch’s smile widens, and he can see the same look replicated on Auston’s face. “Yeah, I was thinking that too, we should make it a weekly thing.”

Auston nods enthusiastically, and they quietly fistbump to seal their plans. Mitch is giddy with excitement, and can’t help but gawk at Auston’s pleased smile for a few seconds longer than he should before turning back to the show.

They filter through a few more acts that hold their attention as they drain their hot chocolates. Mitch’s stomach is still grumbling, but he’ll have to settle for some re-heated leftovers when he gets home, because the kitchen and the espresso bar are closed during the performances.

Total rookie move. He’s as pissed off with himself as it gets.

He’s still silently fuming as the next act takes the stage, and Mitch puts his rage on the backburner for a few moments as he openly gapes at the next performer.

Because _holy_ sugar-tits. The girl is absolutely gorgeous, tall and lean, but curvy in all the right places. Her kinky hair compliments her radiant caramel skin, and man, Mitch would be _all over_ that if the recipient of his end-all-be-all crush wasn’t sitting right next to him.

Still, he can admire, but know that the jackass beside him is the only one who can truly catch his eye.

From the way Auston’s slightly straightened in his seat, along with the rest of the males in the crowd, he can tell he’s not the only one thinking these thoughts.

“Hi guys, tonight I’m going to be doing a cover of ‘Kiss Me,’” she speaks in a soft tone as her emerald eyes scan the crowd.

The first strumming notes from her acoustic guitar sets the atmosphere for the ultimate pining song, which he _so_ does not need right now. When she begins to sing, Mitch can’t help the impressed face he makes, because holy shit, she’s fucking _good_.

Like he can see her being on the Voice, or American Idol or some shit, she’s that good.

He knows Auston’s into it too, Mitch can see him mouthing along the words he knows, and fuck if he knows why he finds this lip-syncing idiot more attractive than the goddess on stage.

It’s a shame though, that she has to do a cover of a song. Especially one that’s so well known. For an open mic, one would think the performers would pull out all the stops, including writing their own music.

“It sucks she’s not singing an original, her voice is amazing,” Mitch whispers over to Auston, who nods in response.

“Yeah, definitely,” Auston agrees, his eyes still locked on the performer. “She has a really pretty voice.”

Mitch guesses that Auston thinks she must have a _pretty_ rack as well. And no, he’s definitely not sulking at all. 

Then, all of a sudden, Auston straightens, the movement jarring Mitch into sitting straight as a rod as well. He looks over to Auston questioningly, but Auston’s eyes are still locked on the singer, not meeting Mitch’s at all. His eyes are clouded in contemplation, and when he leans onto the palm of his hand, Mitch can tell he’s deep in thought.

As Mitch gawks at Auston staring, he can feel his stomach begin to tighten. He knows Auston, knows the way he’s probably envisioning taking her out on dates, her waving to him across the glass in pre-game warm-ups, and her singing to him as they roadtrip across Ontario in the off-season. As he tacks on each thought, his stomach clenches until he’s sure he will never want to eat again.

When she finishes the song, she bows, and is met with thunderous applause. Mitch grudgingly claps, and watches as Auston fights through his daze to clap along with everyone else. He can fully admit to himself that the girl is not even that pretty once you get a good look at her, and to be perfectly honest he doesn’t know what Auston sees in her to be looking at her like she fucking hung the moon or something.

_…He’s also really fucking jealous, but that’s neither here nor there._

The next acts blur together for Mitch, because the energy of the two of them was so thrown off by Sugar Tits’ performance. Auston’s gone quiet, looking pensively towards the table like he’s drafting a solution for world hunger. And Mitch? He’s just trying to get through these performances before his stomach digests itself.

The end of the open mic is commemorated with Darlene waxing poetic about the wonderful performances, and is met with roaring cheers when the next open mic is announced. As the other patrons begin to filter out, Mitch glances behind him when he realizes Auston’s not following him. Instead, he’s looking at Sugar Tits, who’s tucked into the corner of the stage, sipping on a glass of water.

He _better_ be not be doing what Mitch thinks he’s fucking doing.

“Hey, do you mind sticking around for a sec?” Auston questions as he glances back at Mitch.

Great, he’s fucking doing _exactly_ what Mitch thinks he’s doing. God, it’s times like these when he wishes he doesn’t know Auston as well as he does. The only good thing that comes out of it now is that he can at least brace himself for the heartache.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, plopping himself back into his chair, attempting for casual body language because his mind is far from it. “Try not to strike out though, this one’s actually hot,” he says as he tacks on a weak laugh.

Auston has the audacity to blush at his statement. “I’m not- that’s not-“ he stammers, flustered.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mitch dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Just hurry up, I’m fucking starving.”

Auston nods bashfully and skirts away towards Sugar Tits. As he watches her face light up once Auston introduces himself, he turns his head away in dejection. He thought…he thought they were having a good night together.

This is why he should never allow himself to dare to hope, to question ‘what if.’ Because this, the proverbial knife that Auston keeps relentlessly stabbing into his heart, brings such a fierce misery that his eyes well with the frustration of it all.

He can’t let Auston keep doing this to him, even if he’s doing it unknowingly.

His eyes uncontrollably flicker over to them, out of pure self-deprecation, and they lock back in front of him when he sees them both smiling as they lean over her phone. He grabs at the menu, more viciously than the indifference he’s going for.

Distantly, he wonders if they sell shots, and lots of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  :( Poor Mitchy.  
>   
> But like irl poor JVR and Bozie, bc there's no way they're getting re-signed. ;,( and poor Gards for shitting the bed with the rest of the leafs in that third period, but getting shit on ridiculously by the media. All the feels are being felt rn. <3  
> 


	3. WEEK 1: PART 1

** Thursday Night **

Turns out Sugar-Tits has a name. Dayna. He hates her more than he’s ever hated anybody.

Why? Because all he fucking hears for the next couple of days is _Dayna this_ and _Dayna that._ It’s not cute, and Mitch stops responding to Auston’s googly-eyed stories about how good Dayna is at playing guitar. He figures it’s a safer option, based on the increased animosity at which his chirps-but-not-really-chirps land.

Auston’s confused and hurt eyes still have their annoying effect on him, so he figures that he may be too close to revealing his jealousy, and then the whole end-all-be-all crush thing.

So, he stops listening.

He lets Auston hang out with his other friends on the team without making as much of a fuss as he normally would. But, he doesn’t stop paying attention. He’s not that strong.

He can’t help the way his eyes still find Auston’s form in any crowded room, can’t help the way his eyes choose to focus on the small smiles Auston directs at the screen of his phone in the locker room. Can’t help the way he slides into Auston’s stall, knocking his shoulder against Auston’s, distracting him away from his phone with whatever Mitch can think of off the top of his head.

He feels possessive of this time, as he should. It’s Auston and Mitch, and the Leafs. It’s practice, when they bond over bag skates and chirp each other relentlessly. It’s _his_ time, and he’ll be damned if Sugar Tits steals it too.

But now, at some UofT frat house he can’t remember the name of, he’s more than content to drink away the troubles that plague him during the day.

He hasn’t seen Auston in a while, probably off somewhere doing shots as he tries to wrangle a group together for beer pong. That kid and his fucking beer pong, seriously. Mitch remembers the near unstoppable team of Dvo and Chuky back in London, and wonders if it’s some weird USNDTP thing.

Fucking Americans.

He’s snorting quietly to himself as he wanders through the house with his still ice-cold Canadian, killing beers way too quickly to allow them to become warm. He spies Willy leaning over a girl in the corner, spouting off some drunken bullshit about how she’s the most beautiful girl in the room, even though truthfully, she’s probably the first one he’s seen.

Mitch stares at the two of them in a sort of morbid fascination, not sure if he wants to see Willie pull or get shut down epically. Both have their own corresponding pros and cons. And then, as if he has an internal radar for attention, Willie turns to meet Mitch’s disbelieving stare with the same drunken, sleazy smile he’s directing at the girl. However, his face brightens in recognition once he realizes it’s Mitch, and he excitedly beckons him over.

Mitch slowly makes his way over, mindful of the sprawling bodies around him, but also of the way his body doesn’t seem to respond to his brain so well once he starts drinking. Especially when he’s three sheets to the wind.

“Willie!” Mitch cheers, winding an arm around Willie’s shoulder in alcohol-induced happiness.

“Buddy! We were looking everywhere for you!” Willie shouts, far too loudly for the moderate noise of the party. “This is…” He pauses, and Mitch realizes with a snicker that he has no idea what the girl’s name is.

“Angela,” the girl replies snidely, glaring over at Mitch.

Which, rude. Not his fault that her company wasn’t stimulating enough to warrant name-swapping before he got there.

He snorts loudly, looking over at her in amusement just to show how _much_ he’s affected by her tone.

“Well, have a nice night, _Angela_ ,” Mitch emphasizes with a false-cheery smile as he tows Willie away.

When they clear her line of sight, staggering into the next room of the frat house, Mitch begins to laugh at Willie’s shocked expression.

“No?” Willie asks, glancing sullenly back at the room they just exited.

“Dude, _no_ ,” Mitch stresses, giggling drunkenly as he continues to drag Willie away.

“Well my most sincere apologies, not all of us are saving ourselves for Auston Matthews,” Willie heaves out, but any dramatic inflection in his tone is destroyed by the way he slurs out Auston’s name.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mitch mutters as he swats the back of Willie’s head, too drunk to actually deny the winger’s (true) comment.

“He was looking for you, y’know,” Willie sighs, leaning further into Mitch like the tactile fucker he is. “Your loverboy, always ‘where’s mitch?’ Fuck, you two are made for each other.”

It’s then that the sting fights through his blitzed state. _Ouch._

“What did he want?” Mitch tries to stay focused while he buries the oppressive ache in his chest.

Willie glances over at him incredulously, as if they _weren’t_ discussing one of his best friends on the team. “How the fuck should I know? Ask him yourself, last time I saw him he was in the kitchen.”

Despite the dismissal, Willie still accompanies him to the kitchen, the two of them staggering as they lean against each other. They’re snickering to themselves as they walk into the kitchen, before the laughs are caught in their throat as they instead openly gape at what’s taking place in the kitchen.

Because Auston…Auston’s on the fucking _table_.

Actually correction, Auston, Brownie and Kappy are on the table. Seriously, screw his crush and the way he only ever notices Auston first.

“What the-“ Willie breathes, expression caught between horror and complete glee.

“Fuck.” Mitch finishes, eyes locked on Auston’s lanky form as he attempts to stay upright amongst the half-filled cups on the table.

Auston’s eyes are closed as he sways along to the new Jay Z album bumping through the multiple Bose Bluetooth speakers around the room. Mitch is rooted to the alcohol-tacky floor, staring at him, transfixed by the way he looks so at ease among all of these people their age.

 It makes Mitch wistful for something he could never have; meeting Auston at a University party, and introducing himself as Mitchell Marner, stats major, to the gorgeous guy he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the entire night. Experiencing the anonymity of being another student, among other students, at a party, meeting new people.

But this, what he has right now, isn’t too bad either.

In an unfamiliar city, Auston has him. And in the city that is as familiar as it is new, he has something wonderful. His Auston.

At some point during his Auston-centric inner ramblings Willie removes his arm from Mitch, and is instead jabbing him with his finger. “Mitchy, Matts is so fucked, oh my god,” the delight is clear in his voice, and Mitch knows that if Willie wasn’t as alcohol-stupid as he is now, this would be filmed for future chirping material.

“I know, fuck,” he scrubs a hand over his face. He figures he’ll assume his normal role of being Auston’s slightly less drunk babysitter.

Not that he really minds though. Drunk Auston has a tendency to be touchy as fuck, which gives Mitch an excuse to revel in the way Auston can’t seem to keep his hands off him. Which sounds a lot less creepy in his head, fuck.

And then Auston opens his eyes from his position perched on top of the table, and fuck, he is _faded._ His eyes, normally bright with mischief and humour are dulled by the haze of alcohol as he blearily scans the table for his teammates. Taking a long swig out of his solo cup, he raises it to the crowd.

“Cheers to nights that we can’t take back, and to friends that can’t leave!” 

It garners a hearty cheer from the crowd, and Mitch laughs to himself in surprise. Why? Just the fact that it’s nearly the end of the night, and Auston’s toasting as if he’s a best man at a wedding. And the fact that for all of his very surprising eloquence; _what the fuck_ , his words are definitely slurred as he takes a swig out of his disgusting vodka-Gatorade combo. (He tried to explain it to Mitch once, that he was keeping his electrolytes up so he wouldn’t get hungover, but Mitch has yet to see the proof when it’s still him that has to take care of Auston’s ass the next morning after drinking.) 

Of course, Kappy chooses that moment to scream out in happiness. “Willie, Mitch!” He gestures for them to come over to the table wildly.

At the mention of their names, Auston’s head jerks up, and Mitch really hopes that his mind is fabricating the way that Auston’s smile is nearly blinding as he spots the two of them in the crowd. And then his eyes flicker downwards, to the way Willie and Mitch are practically entangled with each other so they don’t fall, and this time Mitch is dead sure his mind is deceptive in the way Auston’s smile dims, and his eyes narrow slightly.

 Auston looks like he’s contemplating jumping off the table unassisted and even drunk Mitch knows that’s a bad idea, so he rushes over to prevent Auston’s imminent death, untangling himself from Willie as he goes. Meeting Auston at the table, he holds his ankles to support that long frame of his.

“Here, I’ll help you,” he says as he reaches a hand up to Auston, who slips his own warm, hockey-calloused hand into his.

“Feelin like Cinderella right now,” Auston hums happily, and for some reason Mitch’s brain warns him against saying ‘ _Well, does that make me your prince_?’

He doesn’t know why, because he thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

“Okay well grab my hand tighter Cinderella,” is what he says instead, tugging lightly to ensure the strength of his grip.

“Y’know, if I fell on you right now, I’d probably kill you,” Auston remarks casually.

“Well then don’t, dumbass,” Mitch snorts fondly as he hauls Auston down, watching Willie do the same with Brownie and Kappy out of the corner of his eye.

Returning to the familiar 3 inch difference, Mitch grins up at Auston, their bodies pressed tightly together from the maneuver.

“Hey,” Mitch smiles unsurely.

Auston’s looking at him intently, with a focus that is misleading in comparison to his drunken gait. “I thought you left,” he whispers softly.

“I’d never leave without you,” is Mitch’s immediate response, until he thinks better of it. “But, I mean, if you wanted to hook up with someone, I’m not expecting to leave with you or anything,” because seriously, fuck his word vomit.

Auston laughs softly, and somehow Mitch forgets they’re in a fucking frat party, and that some idiots are chanting over a keg stand. In that moment, all of his senses are mercilessly smothered by Auston fucking Matthews. He can feel the warmth of his close body, can smell the faint trace of his aftershave, and can hear the way his breath huffs before his laugh.

“I’m definitely not picking up tonight.”

He nods in an attempt to look unfazed; but fuck, he’s so _fazed._ “Um, that’s good, right.”

Auston rolls his eyes fondly and he wraps himself around Mitch, hugging him tightly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Mitch subconsciously returns the hug, smiling so hard his face actually hurts. “Happy that I’m at this frat house? Or happy that I’m playing for Toronto?” He can’t help but push further.

“Mitch, I’m happy that you’re a person who exists in my life,” his voice is muffled with the way he’s speaking practically into Mitch’s hair, leaning into him as if he can’t stand up by himself.

Realistically speaking, he probably can’t.

“I’m happy that you exist too.” It’s one of those drunken ‘I love you buddy’ moments that Mitch has experienced with various teammates all throughout his playing career, but he can’t deny that there’s something different about this.

Maybe his mind is fabricating that too. God knows he shouldn’t trust his own brain willingly.

“I was looking for you earlier on,” Auston says as he pulls back, Mitch grudgingly letting him go. “No one would pair up to play pong with me.”

“Shocker,” Mitch comments sarcastically, because really, who would want to play with a douche that called it _pong_? “And you think I’m going to?”

“Well…yeah,” Auston does something adorable with his face, like he hasn’t really considered the option of playing with someone else. “We always play together.”

“Because literally everyone else tells you to fuck off.” Also because Auston turns beer pong into even more of a drinking game, combining the idea with King’s Cup to create a whole bunch of drunken stupidity. Mitch has picked the dump cup too often to ever want to play with Auston again.

Still, Auston’s making a pretty solid case with his pout, and Mitch is forced to reconsider, like he always does. “Fine, fuck.”

“You’re the best,” Auston says happily as he leads the way to the beer pong table in the backyard.

He meets Willie’s eyes as he follows Auston, and laughs at the pitying expression Willie makes at him. They both know that the next time he enters the house he’s going to be severely more fucked up than he is now.

 

\-----/-----

 

He doesn’t know how, but they’ve somehow made it to Auston’s apartment. He doesn’t remember ordering the Uber, doesn’t even remember which of his teammates he said goodbye to as they left. And if he doesn’t remember anything, Auston sure as hell doesn’t, with the way he’s sniggering at his unsuccessful attempts to stick his key in the lock.

Mitch eventually has to take over the endeavor, huffing as he rips the key from Auston’s hand and getting it in on the first try. Auston giggles as Mitch shoves him into his apartment, closing the door behind him. Mitch smirks fondly, because really, what else can he do at this point.

He pulls out his phone, and blurrily opens the uber app.

Auston must realize that Mitch isn’t following him into his living room, because he turns back to look at him. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“Um, ordering an uber back to my place,” Mitch murmurs distractedly, waving his phone as evidence.

“Mitch, I don’t want you going home alone at this time of night.” Auston's voice is surprisingly stern for how smashed he is.  
  
Mitch, because he’s drunk, and infinitely more stupid than he is sober, has to press it, pocketing his phone as he does so. “You don’t want me to go? Or you want me to stay?” He asks flirtatiously.   
  
“Aren’t they the same thing?” Auston responds slowly, like he’s actually trying to decrypt the drunken horseshit that is coming out of his mouth.   
  
Mitch just taps his nose in response. Auston resembles a confused puppy as he repeats the same action on himself. Mitch can’t help the bark of laughter he lets out. “You absolute goof, let’s get you to bed,” he says as he ushers them into Auston’s bedroom.   
  
The whole process takes longer than it should, with Auston cackling like a hysteric toddler when Mitch maneuvers him around to undress him for bed. Huffing loudly at his antics, Mitch can’t help the rush of fondness at the ridiculousness of his normally chill best friend. He lets out a quiet chuckle at the gangly lump on the bed, weaved through the sheets in a way that looks insanely uncomfortable.

However, judging by the drunkenly satisfied smile Auston is currently sporting, Mitch would argue he seems pretty comfortable.

“Okay buddy, good night,” Mitch trails off quietly as he reaches for the door handle, sure that Auston is already asleep.  
  
“You’re not...where are you sleeping?” Auston murmurs as he squints to keep his eyes open.   
  
“Not sure, the couch probably,” Mitch trails off, damn Auston and his one-bedroom bachelor pad.  
  
“You can...it’s um, a queen,” Auston stutters and then eventually gives up on words, patting the other side of the bed invitingly.  
  
Mitch hesitates. “Are you sure?”   
  
Auston huffs a laugh from where he’s snuggled into the pillow, and the tenderness of the moment makes Mitch’s chest constrict. He didn’t sign up for this shit when he volunteered (like always) to babysit drunk Auston.   
  
He’s still glad it’s happening though.  
  
He quickly strips down to his boxers, leaving his shirt on, lest his face do a poor job at concealing how much he’s freaking out about this moment right now.  Climbing into an already human-warmed bed is pretty much the greatest thing ever. He and Auston share matching sighs; but really, who knows what Auston’s drunk ass is sighing about.   
  
They’re quiet for a few moments, as they adjust themselves in the bed. As always, the air with Auston is just as comfortable quiet as it is when it’s filled with hushed voices or laughter.   
  
And then Auston clears his throat. “You wanna have a deep talk?”   
  
It startles a laugh out of Mitch, who turns over to glance at his best friend, whose face is ungracefully smushed into his pillow as he lies on his stomach.   
  
“About what?” Mitch tries to keep the humour out of his voice, it’s mostly fondness anyways, so there’s no danger in that.   
  
“Anything,” Auston breathes, adjusting his head so he can peek one eye open at Mitch. “Tell me something I don’t know.” 

_I’m in love with you_.

But of course, he doesn’t go with that. He has no idea what fucking implications he’s already shot to shit tonight, and he doesn’t want to add a drunken confession to the list.   
  
He scours his brain for interesting factoids he sees on Instagram as he’s passing the time at the airport. He wants Auston’s mind to be fucking _blown_ ; though in retrospect he realizes it probably won’t take much at this point.  
  
“Mitchy?” Auston calls softly, and Mitch’s eyes zero on his profile. He can see Auston’s little half-smile, like he knows how hard Mitch is pushing his inebriated brain to come up with something. “Something sciency, I know you love that shit,” he prompts.  
  
That shit, he does love. He forces Auston to watch astronomy documentaries with him on the regular, he should be used to this shit by now.   
  
_But maybe he is_ , a traitorous voice whispers in his mind.   
  
He needs to...shut that shit down. Hard.   
  
As his heart clenches, his mind races, and he finally comes up with his interesting factoid that is going to change Auston’s life.   
  
“Okay, got it,” Mitch says excitedly as he shifts towards Auston, sitting against the headboard so he can use his hands. He’s a 5 year old who gestures as he tells a story, come at him bro.   
  
Auston also shuffles, closing his eyes as he shifts further into his pillow, a small, sleepy smile softening his features.   
  
“Okay, so, you know how atoms are mostly comprised of empty space?” He begins.   
  
“Mhm-hm,” Auston intones back, his eyes still closed. 

“Hey! I’m not telling a story to someone who’s asleep!” Mitch mutters in outrage as he gently pushes at Auston’s still body.   
  
“Sorry Mitch,” he says softly as he peeks one eye open. “Better?”   
  
“You’re still gonna fall asleep because you’re a jackass, but fine,” Mitch huffs as he tries to remember where he was in the story.   
  
“I won’t, I promise,” Auston murmurs evenly as he blindly raises his hand to Mitch’s face.   
  
Before Mitch can swat it away on pure instinct, his breath catches as Auston instead links his pinky with Mitch’s index finger to create a wonky pinky promise. Because, apparently his drunken brain can’t distinguish Mitch’s pinky from his index finger.  
  
And like, that’s super not endearing or anything.   
  
Their mismatched linked fingers rest on the bed as Mitch readies himself to re-tell his interesting factoid. “ _Okay_ ,“ he begins over dramatically. “So, Auston, you know how atoms are comprised of mostly empty space?”

“Yeah, totally,” Auston bullshits, smirking at Mitch.

“See, there’s the enthusiasm I’m looking for,” Mitch snickers, and his heart squeezes when Auston tugs on his index finger so their intertwined fingers are closer to his slumped body.

This is like, nearly too much.

“So,” Mitch trudges on, ignoring the way his voice sounds choked to his own ears, “if you took out all of the empty space inside of every atom that makes up a human, the entire human race could fit in the volume of a sugar cube.”

He watches for Auston’s reaction, surprisingly disappointed at the response his statement garners. He cracks one eye open to glare at Mitch in cynical disbelief. “No way,” he mumbles.

“Nah dude I’m telling you. Neutron stars,” he states proudly.

“Did you learn about them in one of your documentaries?” Auston’s voice is teasing, but the warmth of his evident fondness caresses Mtich in a way that makes him feel even drowsier in the company of his best friend that he loves so much.

“Duh,” he snarks back, laughing. “Maybe we can watch it next time you come over?” His voice is unthinkingly hopeful, the alcohol failing to remind him that his lovesick disgustingness is showing.

“Mhm, I’d like that,” Auston sleepily murmurs as he shifts in the bed. “Hey, do you mind doing me a favour?”

And Mitch’s stomach? Drops. If this is Auston’s way of rescinding his offer of sharing a bed, count Mitch as officially freaking the fuck out. Glancing over at Auston gives him no indication of what’s going on in the drunken mind of his best friend, as he’s still wearing that stupid, dumb, gorgeous smile.

“Yeah?” He whispers, not allowing the slight shake in his voice to betray his confidence.

Auston’s response is non-verbal, instead taking to butting his head against Mitch’s loose hand. Mitch huffs a light laugh at the familiarity of it all, the tension in his stomach unwinding. The gesture of playing with Auston’s hair is not at all something new. Except, when he wants Mitch to soothe the aching in his skull with the light scratches across his scalp, it’s usually about 8 hours later.

And Auston’s usually hungover like a dog, not still drunk.

He reaches a hand over to bury his fingers through the yielding softness of Auston’s hair. It’s a gesture that is as soothing to Auston as it is to him, and he can’t help but lose himself in between the maze of soft figure-eights that he traces through Auston’s hair. Auston hums a pleased sigh, and it takes everything in him to not dip his hand down to Auston’s face, to trace over his smile wrinkles.

The quiet is more enabling than it is oppressive, and it feeds Mitch’s fantasy rich brain like dry kindling to a forest fire. His mind is wandering again, and his alcohol laden mind is probably going to stop responding to his mental threats soon.

“I’m only doing this once, either now or tomorrow morning, take your pick,” Mitch jokes to Auston.

They both share a soft whisper of a laugh, realizing the absurdity of the statement. As if there was any universe in which Mitch could ever say no to Auston.

 “Don’t stop,” Auston whines petulantly. “Maybe if you do it well enough now, I won’t be hungover tomorrow?” His voice is disgustingly hopeful, and it’s pretty entertaining that he thinks there will be any other outcome for tomorrow morning than him being supremely hungover.

“Hashtag logic,” Mitch intones, laughing at Auston’s ‘sound’ reasoning.

“Facts, 100 emoji,” Auston mumbles back incoherently as his face smushes further into his pillow.

“You’re gonna be so fucked tomorrow, oh my god,” and there’s a trace, just a trace, of sympathy, weaved in amongst the pure humour that Auston’s state of being has induced.

“I’m fucked now, I didn’t know it was possible to be drunk and hungover at the same time,” he sounds nearly surprised by it, that his lethal combination of vodka and Gatorade didn’t hydrate him like he thought it would.

“Tomorrow morning’s gonna be fun,” Mitch smirks down at Auston, but his eyes are still closed.

“You won’t...you’ll still be here in the morning, right? I mean... we can do breakfast or something,” his words are carefully considered, and Mitch’s chest caves at the thought of Auston waking up alone.   
  
“Nah, I’ll be here, someone has to take care of your hungover ass,” Mitch laughs softly as his fingers continue to weave through Auston’s soft hair.   
  
“Good, that’s...really good,” Auston sighs, his voice slowing as his body begins to shut down. “Can you make blueberry pancakes tomorrow morning?” His voice is timid, similar to a child asking for another serving of dessert, knowing full well they shouldn’t.   
  
“Fatass,” Mitch chides jokingly, and Auston’s sleepy smile widens, the only indication that he hears the chirp. “Sure buddy, no problem.”   
  
He reaches over to his phone to set an alarm and a reminder to make the blueberry pancakes, because he’s nearly 100% sure he’ll forget come tomorrow morning.   
  
Reaching over to continue playing with Auston’s hair is a moot point, because Auston’s already essentially dead to the world, his mouth open in soft snores. Mitch shouldn’t find this cute. He can see Auston starting to drool slightly on his pillow. It should be gross. It should kill whatever hard-on he harbors for Auston.   
  
Shocker, it doesn’t. It may also be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. 

He still reaches across, the absentminded strokes equally as reassuring to him.  
  
When Mitch traces his fingertip underneath the shell of Auston’s ear, Auston's lips pulls up in a sleepily contented grin.   
  
It feels so domestic, and this taste what he could have is as hope-inducing as it is soul-crushing. Auston, depending on Mitch to get his ass home safely, and then trusting him to take of him while he’s completely smashed? It’s...a lot. Truly.   
  
So he can’t really be held accountable for what he says next; a product of the fondness, love, and alcohol lowering his inhibitions. “Goodnight, babe.”   
  
Auston snuffles in his sleep, huddling even closer to Mitch. “‘Night, sweetheart.” Auston mumbles in his sleep.  
  
Mitch can’t even freeze.  
  
His brain is racing, trying to comprehend the fact that somehow Auston Matthews, _his_ Auston Matthews, just called him sweetheart. He has to actively fight the warmth the term of endearment weaves through his inebriated mind as he fights for an explanation of this.   
  
Auston’s drunk, that’s all. He must of been dreaming of someone other than Mitch calling him babe. But who?  
  
Then it comes stinging back to him in a rush. Sugar-Tits.   
  
Well, he won’t let her have this too. At least not tonight. His intoxicated mind is clear in its possessiveness, and it’s one of the first clear thoughts he’s had all night. Auston called _him_  his sweetheart, and for tonight, that’s good enough for Mitch.   
  
It has to be.   
  
Looking down at his Auston that he loves so much, Mitch's fingers move independently of his mind as they stroke down his face, smoothing the sleep-induced wrinkles.   
  
_You have no idea_ , Mitch thinks to himself, his calloused fingers brushing over the smooth, freshly shaven skin of Auston’s cheek. _No idea of the lengths I’d go to see you like this, happy and content, because of my doing. Nothing would make me happier._  
  
He wants to reach over and create a new note on his iPhone, with only the message: _AUS CALLED YOU SWEETHEART, THIS IS NOT A DRILL,_ so that his sober mind will remember it come morning, but he can’t make himself move, like disrupting Auston is an accepted capital offence.   
  
Instead, he settles himself down into his own pillow, feeling the whoosh of Auston’s breath hitting his forehead with the way he’s curled up into his pillow. He clears his head of his drunken thoughts, and wills himself to _remember_ , the importance of Auston’s statement cutting through the static of his alcohol-fuzzy mind.   
  
Auston called you sweetheart.   
  
Auston called you sweetheart.  
  
_Fuck Dayna, you’re Auston’s motherfucking sweetheart._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Drunk Auston was seriously so much fun to write, I hope you guys enjoyed!!! I split up this chapter bc it was turning into fic-ception, so the next part should up soon-ish! <3  
>   
> Thoughts are super welcome, I honestly love hearing what you guys think! :D <33  
> 


	4. WEEK 1: PART 2

** Tuesday **

  
As a result of an unspoken agreement, Mitch and Auston find themselves sitting in their same table on open-mic night at Mortar and Petal. Still fighting over the very limited space of their table, in a battle that Mitch considers footsies more than anything, but hey, he’s not at all complaining.  
  
“You talking to Diana?” Mitch questions bitterly, his dignity not at all liking the smiles Auston is sending towards the screen of his phone; or the fact that Auston’s attention is ensnared by a virtual conversation rather than Mitch’s physical presence.  
  
Auston’s eyes rise to meet his, and it’s strange, because the richness in his dark eyes nearly takes Mitch’s breath away. A glance from this guy, under-eye bags and all, is apparently enough to require the Heimlich maneuver.  
  
He’s so, so fucked.   
  
Auston’s lip kink into a small smirk, and  _fuck_ , Mitch is done for. “It’s Dayna, jackass,” he sounds more amused than annoyed at Mitch’s (purposefully) accidental mispronunciation of Sugar Tit’s name. After all, why call a duck a sheep in one’s head if it’s really a duck?  
  
(This may or may not have to do with the fact that Sugar Tit’s has the worst case of duck lips ever. But, honestly he’d have to be really pressed to admit to it.)   
  
“I was talking to my mom, you idiot.” Auston interrupts his super serious thoughts with forced exasperation.   
  
“MamaMathews!” Mitch cheers enthusiastically. “How is she doing?” And Mitch can obviously see where loving Auston comes from, because fuck if he doesn’t adore Ema Matthews.   
  
“She’s good, wondering when she’ll see you next,” Auston murmurs back distractedly as he types a message back to his mom. His cheeks are slightly pink, and Mitch can’t control his smirk at the thought of MamaMatthews embarrassing him through text.   
  
MamaMatthews is his queen. Next.   
  
“Anytime, anyplace, you know I always want to get my cook on with MamaMatthews,” Mitch says fondly, meaning every word.   
  
“Exactly, that’s what I’m worried about,” Auston deadpans, but his eyes are bright with humour.   
  
Okay fine, so the last time MamaMatthews tried to teach Mitch how to make enchiladas he nearly burned down Auston’s apartment. So what? The effort was there. (There was also the fact that he had 3 hours of uninterrupted Mitch+Auston awesomeness time as a result of cleaning the shitshow that was formerly Auston’s kitchen.)   
  
“Don’t even front, your fatass inhaled like 5 enchiladas that night,” Mitch argues passionately.   
  
“Yeah, that my  _mom_  made,” Auston huffs back, indignant at the thought of eating Mitch’s admittedly charred enchiladas.  
  
Which, whatever. Auston’s not the half-Mexican golden boy he claims to be; at least Mitch  _attempted_  to keep up with MamaMatthew’s cooking lesson, instead of lazily scrolling through Instagram and shoveling food into his mouth like the boy-wonder did.   
  
“You’re so full of shit, you’re just jealous that MamaMatthews wants to adopt me as her son and throw your ass to the curb,” Mitch responds haughtily.   
  
Auston’s quiet for a moment, and Mitch unthinkingly glances over at him. Before Mitch can question the oddly pensive look on Auston’s face, he finally breaks the silence. “Yeah, something like that,” Auston trails off, laughing softly to himself even though realistically, it’s not _that_  funny of a statement.   
  
And Mitch, he doesn’t really know what to make of it. Auston doesn’t make a habit of these vague, open-ended answers, so he really doesn’t know what to say back. He’s caught in a staring match he’s wholly unprepared for, with the way Auston’s peering at him as if he were some difficult play that Babs drafted up at the last minute, throwing it at them with three minutes left to go in the third.   
  
Mitch unknowingly fiddles with his wallet, the laser-focus of Auston’s stare overloading the fuse-boxes of his brain, turning it into a mushy mess. Because at the moment, his mangled brain is telling him how great of an idea it would be to lean in and capture Auston’s slightly pursed lips between his.   
  
And to be quite honest he’s not sure he’s strong enough to stop himself this time.   
  
He’s leaning his weight on to the balls of his feet, beginning to push forward in his chair, when...  
  
He’s suddenly not.   
  
His wallet is on the floor, knocked over in his carelessness, with Auston and him both staring at it silently. He’s slow to return his eyes to Auston, but Auston’s even slower, giving Mitch a few precious seconds to unabashedly admire his profile.   
  
When he looks back at Mitch, his eyes are slightly widened, and _fuck_ , Mitch’s mind races. Races through the different possibilities his overactive mind creates. He’s not sure if Auston’s more surprised that Mitch’s wallet fell unexpectedly, or the fact that Mitch was about to fucking  _kiss_  him.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“So, uh, hot chocolates?” Mitch questions shrilly, jerking his head nervously towards the wall of mugs.

Auston just peers at him, his eyes pinched like he wants to say something, but just doesn’t know what.   
  
Internally, Mitch is pleading for Auston to drop it like he’s never dropped anything before.  _Please, you emotionless oaf, just let me sulk and fucking drop it for once in your life_.  
  
“Um, yeah, sure,” Auston responds dazedly a few beats later, not even bothering to put up a half-assed fight about the hot chocolates. That’s when Mitch knows that he needs to go.

Needing no other words of encouragement, Mitch bounds out of his seat and towards the mug wall, desperate to put his jittery body to use.

When he glances back at Auston out of the corner of his eye, he’s still watching Mitch’s retreating form.

 

\-----/-----

 

“Hiya Suga’!” Is the booming call he hears as he makes his way over to the til, carrying the same two mugs because he’s a hockey player, and thereby a boring creature of immense habit.

“Darlene, how are you?” He greets cheerfully as he sets the mugs down on the counter, watching her smirk widen at the sight of the mugs.

“A fan of those ones, hm?” She questions jokingly as she gestures down at the familiar mugs. “And I’m good darlin', same old same old. You?”

He beams at the near reverent way she strokes over the handle of the mugs. “Can’t complain,” he winks at her, shrugging.

“And breaking hearts, I’m assuming?” She lets out a hearty laugh at her statement, and Mitch can’t help but grin, even though his chest twinges in a shockingly painful reminder.

He wants to respond honestly, but he knows it would be much too dark for their lighthearted conversation.  _No, just getting my own broken instead, but that’s nothing new_.

Instead, Mitch does what he always does, and buries his emotions into the inescapable singularity where no one would dare look. “Never,” he forces out good-naturedly.

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again; I’m watching out for you Mitchell,” her playful statement is punctuated with a soft tap to his nose and he’s powerless against his bark of laughter. “Two hot chocolates, then?”

And before he can voice his shock at the fact that Darlene remembers his order, and name, after only coming  _once_ , she’s already behind the bar, steaming milk.

“Thank you, but uh…I still have to pay,” Mitch says as he waves his wallet helplessly.

“Mitchell,” she huffs exasperatedly. “Honey, we’ve been over this.”

“But,“ he cuts her off, determined. “Last time was free because it was a welcome to Mortar and Petal, what’s your excuse now?” He reminds her playfully.

She hums, thinking to herself as she pours the steamed milk into the two mugs. “Think of it as a ‘thanks for coming back,’ then.”

Fuck.

“You’re good,” he’s grudging in his praise, and is awarded with her bright smile.

“Thank you, darlin’,” she accepts his compliment graciously. “We’re just about to start the open mic, are you excited?”  
  
“Definitely!” Mitch replies enthusiastically to her change in topic. “Auston and I are already having a great time!” And sure, it’s exaggerated, but he would literally lie through his teeth than upset Darlene with the knowledge that he nearly just lost his best friend tonight.   
  
“Well, someone tell your boy that,” Darlene smirks, nodding her head over to where Auston’s giving out distinct vibes of  _do not want_. When his eyes aren’t glued to his phone they’re glancing around him, slightly overwhelmed at the sheer volume of people.  
  
And then the weight of what she said hits Mitch, and he flushes accordingly. “We’re not...he’s not my boy,” he mumbles shyly.   
  
Darlene ponders his response for a moment, gazing contemplatively between the two of them. “Well, I’ll say it again Suga’, you should tell him that,” she says slyly, and pats his cheek softly before returning back to the cash register.

 

\-----/-----

 

Unsurprisingly, the events of the open mic suck Mitch in just as much as they did the previous week. There are some familiar faces (like the cute guy with the happy poems who Mitch honestly just likes to look at,) and some unfamiliar ones; Mitch seriously feels bad for the guy who unknowingly got poem-slammed into another dimension by a short pixie-haired girl with glasses.

The acts filter through, until a familiar head of hair walks herself over-confidently to the stage. Mitch halfheartedly fights the way his lip curls in disdain, but he’s not quite sure he holds it off well enough.

It doesn’t matter though; Auston’s eyes are already glued to Sugar Tits anyways, so there’s no risk of his jealousy being discovered.

Impulsively, he peeks at Auston, no longer surprised at what he sees. Auston’s anticipatory focus is directed at Sugar Tits, and then the smile she sends over to him is reciprocated within an instant. Fuck, they’re just rubbing it in his face at this point. His stomach churns violently with the internalized jealousy that he is unable to verbally express.

“Good evening,” she quietly murmurs into the microphone, obviously assuming that everyone will already be paying attention to her like the diva she is. “Tonight I’ll be switching things up, I’ll be singing an original. It’s called  _Slumber_.”

And of course, Mitch doesn’t roll his eyes because that would be rude. But, like, fucking finally. Even though he’s only seen her perform once live, that shit with the covers was getting tired  _quick_.

She begins to strum the first soft, lilting notes on her acoustic guitar, and he notices Auston turning towards him from Mitch’s left. He’s genuinely unsure what he’s supposed to do with the small smile Auston sends him, reminding Mitch, ‘hey, that’s my girl on stage, what’s happening in your pathetically non-existent love life?’

Truthfully, it’s miracle he can even pull his features into a constipated half-smile at this point, but somehow, he manages it. His heart is palpitating painfully within his chest but at least he has his stupid smile to fall back on when things get tough. A diversion tactic that is as unfailingly simple as it is effective.

Still, it's an oddly agonizing thought to know that Auston’s fallen for it like all the others have.

_Come sing me your slow_

_Keep me un-alone_

_Until I go to sleep_

_Until I go to sleep_

And, like. It’s really good? He’s more shocked himself that he’s complimenting his sworn enemy in all things Auston Matthews, but he can’t deny praise where it’s due. He leans over his clasped hands and watches the performance with slightly more enthusiasm. Meaning, that his mind isn’t completely preoccupied with the urge to drag Auston away from Mortar Petal, and more importantly Sugar Tits, and never come back.

 

_The faint smell of your clothes_

_Reminds me that I’m home_

_Sink me into sleep_

_Sink me into sleep_

 

But how…how can Auston be her home? Auston’s _his_  home, his reminder that no matter what fucking city they’re in on the road, no matter how far he is from Toronto, he’ll always have a piece of his home right beside him. Working with him to achieve his childhood dreams of hoisting the Stanley Cup. Standing alongside him during the most important moments of his life.

And Sugar Tits? She’ll  _never_  have Auston the way he has Auston. She’ll never know the way the Leafs have become the brothers Auston never had growing up, or his shy abashment when the media still flocks to his stall after a game, even if he hasn’t scored a point. She’ll never know the way Auston secretly lets Freddie win at video games because he feels bad about the incessant chirping Freddie receives, even if he participates in it sometimes.

Mitch is possessive of these pieces, these pieces that are  _Auston_  more intrinsically than some cheesy good-morning text, or a guitar-playing date.

_Lately I’ve been lying lonely love_

_Longing to be dreaming of_

 

_Only you who can steal the thunder_

_Only you who can calm the colour_

_It’s only you my love, only you my love_

_It’s only you. Come ease my slumber_

And Mitch is so overcome with the feeling the song stirs up within him that he nearly feels pity for Sugar Tits.  _Nearly._  Because he’s known,  _and loved_ , Auston longer, so his reciprocating feelings of the song are magnified at a level his body nearly can’t handle.

It’s nearly too much, the way his body longs to be back at Auston’s apartment the way they were last Thursday, snuggled under the covers and talking about  _atoms_ , of all fucking things. At this point, his yearning is nearly palpable, with the way his body is locked in its undeniable tension.

He loses himself in the rich lyrics of the song, and can’t help his carelessness when he glances over at Auston, his mind begging him for a physical manifestation of his mental inner ramblings.

Except when he looks over, Auston’s already staring at him. It’s the first time he can think of that Mitch hasn’t initiated eye contact, and Mitch nearly jerks his head away in self-preservation. Except there’s something in Auston’s expression, an intensity that Mitch rarely sees off the ice. It’s the same look he’s seen directed countless times at a goaltender; a near devastating focus that scrutinizes for weaknesses and exploits them in a ludicrous manner.   
  
Mitch has no inclination as to why it’s directed at him.   
  
Mitch awkwardly smiles in response, unsure of what he should do, unsure of anything anymore. After a moment Auston matches his sheepish expression, and in a silent, yet implicit action, they return their eyes to Sugar Tits, who’s nearing the end of her performance. 

 

\-----/-----

  
“Holy shit, that was...a big improvement on last week, that song...wow, it was gorgeous,” Mitch says in resentful admiration as he attempts to wrap his mind around the performance. It’s the end of the open mic, but he still can’t face the indisputable heartache the song kindled within him.   
  
“Yeah?” There’s a shyness in Auston’s expression that Mitch can’t quite figure out.   
  
“Yeah man, definitely, that song was incredible, totally heartbreaking,” he isn’t completely sure why he feels the need to reassure Auston of his love for the song; maybe because he and Sugar Tits are dating, and Mitch needs to be a solid friend if he can’t be a solid boyfriend.   
  
“Yeah, she, uh, worked really hard on it,” Auston scratches the back of his neck stiffly.   
  
“I’m sure she had a lot of inspiration,” Mitch says slyly before his voice turns serious. “It’s about you, y’know, the song.” Mitch explains, the resignation creeping into his forced monotone.  
  
And then Auston chuckles unexpectedly, and it’s so  _not_  the reaction Mitch was expecting. He’s pretty thrown off, and he’s sure it shows.  
  
“Mitch, the song isn’t about me, I can promise you that,” there’s a twinkle of humour in Auston’s eyes, a little indication that he knows something Mitch doesn’t, and he can’t help the way he straightens at the tone.

 

\-----/-----

 

Mitch spies Sugar Tits after the open-mic the same time Auston does, nudging him roughly. All he wants is for this to be quick, so he can leave and sulk over his unmistakable single-ness in the comfort of his apartment; over a bowl of ice cream that is definitely not contained in his meal plan.

“Wanna go say hi?” Auston questions him earnestly, sending Mitch a hopeful smile as if it’ll smooth over the biting edges of his tenacious jealousy.

Unsurprisingly, it does. And in other unsurprising news, his end-all-be-all crush apparently has no bounds. 

Mitch spends the entire walk over cursing himself and his weak constitution. Fuck Auston for unknowingly being his weakness, and fuck Sugar Tits for knowingly taking that away from him. When they arrive in front of her, there’s a slight moment of awkwardness, with no one bearing the responsibility of breaking the ice.

“Hey, I’m Mitch,” he introduces himself flatly, the fucking epitome of Canadian politeness, because even if he hates her more than he’s ever hated anyone, he can at least force himself to be civil.

“Ah, the infamous Mitch. I’m Dayna, it’s nice to meet you,” she laughs good-naturedly and reaches her hand out for a handshake. Mitch spies her giving Auston an indecipherable look out of the corner of his eye, and can’t help but bristle at the unspoken communication.

“You’ve heard about me?” He can’t help the cockiness that edges into his tone as a result of their mental pissing contest.

“You’re serious? Aus doesn’t shut up about you!” She says it with a genuine smile, which throws Mitch off a lot more than he’d like it to. Especially because in all of Toronto, he was the first fucking person to call Auston by that nickname. Fuck the fact that she thinks she’s entitled to  _his_  nickname.

“I’ve heard a couple of things about you as well,” he sniffs airily, in an attempt to mask the way the entire encounter has re-distributed his center of gravity.

She nudges Auston playfully, smirking at the way he flushes under both of their stares. Auston seizes the moment to reach over and hug her, preemptively smothering any other jokes at his expense. Mitch looks away, feeling intrusive on their private moment.

“You were wonderful,” Mitch hears Auston murmur to her, and it’s so fucking heartbreaking; because no matter how beautiful a goal he may score, he’ll never hear the same affection that intermingles into Auston’s voice. All he’ll ever have is the NHL bro standard yelling of ‘nice shot!’ that all of his other teammates receive. He’ll never attain this level of importance in Auston’s life, and that’s…just fucking  _tragic_.

There’s also the fact that his misery is fueled by the near bottomless pit of jealousy he has endured the entire night.

Yeah, he’s fucking jealous, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.   
  
So what does he do?   
  
He goes out and finds himself a fucking boyfriend, that’s what. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Cannot at all take credit for the lyrics, they belong to my boi Lewis Watson (the song is actually called Slumber, and it's a dope song!!)  
>   
> Also, this update should clear up questions about formatting and the fic in general? ;)  
>   
> Also can we pls scream about how dumb these idiots are, that would be great thaannkkss <3  
> 


	5. WEEK 2: PART 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  hihi sorry for neglecting this lil bitch, apologies and love for everyone <333  
>   
> Also, super special thanks to my pal Perry for looking this over for me, love u bitch <3 She runs triathlons, saves kittens from burning buildings, and forechecks harder than anyone else, yet still has time to look this over for me??? What a legend, truly. <333  
> 

**Wednesday**

So, finding a boyfriend within a week’s time is surprisingly difficult, but let it be known that Mitchell Marner fucking cherishes a challenge. Except for turning his straight best friend gay, apparently.

Except for that.

Still, Mitch knows when it’s time to ask for outside help, after the 15th unsolicited dick pic he receives off of his fake account on grindr. He’s got good, caring friends who will help him rectify his unfortunate single-dom.

Hopefully.

 

**Mitch**

_Hey, do you know any hot single guys that would be interested in me?_

 

He copies the messages and pastes it into his most recent chats, figuring it’s his best option. Which means that Willy, Davo, Dyl, and Chuky are his unlucky targets for the day. He forgoes the recipient of his most recent conversation, for obvious reasons.

Because his friends have absolutely no life other than playing hockey and relentlessly chirping each other on Instagram, his phone lights up with multiple notifications before he can even hide it so he’s not tempted to check it every five seconds.

Willy just sends him Auston’s number, accompanied by two kissing emojis, which is… fucking unhelpful and rude.

 

**Davo**

_You okay Marns? I’m free to facetime later on tn if u want <3 :D _

**Mitch**

_Just having an existential crisis, nbd, I should be over it in a few hours. Talk soon bb <3_

**Davo**

_Okay buddy, love u_

**Mitch**

_< 33_

 

He opens Chuky’s messages next, immediately regretting his decision to message him in the first place.

 

**Snaccy Tkachuk**

_I’m shocked. You took a long enough break from your leafs gang-bang to actually want to look for someone new?_

**Snaccy Tkachuk**

_I’m js, there’s some prime real estate on ur team, I wouldn’t go looking too far tbh_

 

The final text is accompanied by a frankly ridiculous amount of eyeball emojis, and Mitch is torn between wanting to laugh, or throw his phone in distaste. It’s a reaction that is subconscious, and one that he hasn’t been able to shake, even after the rough years™ back in London.

 

**Mitch**

_Let’s be real, you know I only have eyes for you, baby <33 _

**Snaccy Tkachuk**

_Bless, now I can die happy <3 (Idk anyone in tdot, but I can hook u up once you guys come out to Calgary!!!!)_

 

Their next game against Calgary is two months away. Which is two months too late.

 

**Mitch**

_Thanks buddy, love u <3_

 

His phone chirps with a new notification from Dylan, and he really, really, hopes that Dyl will have something helpful for him.

 

**Dyl**

_What, Matthews’ dick not everything you hoped it’d be?_

 

And there goes his hope, free-falling to the earth in a similar fashion to his dignity.

 

**Mitch**

_No, like I’m actually trying to get over him this time_  
  
**Dyl**

_Really_

**Dyl**

_This plan sounds about as effective as Sobfests 1 through 23. This is starting to get a bit pathetic, bud._  
  
**Mitch**

 _Fuck off, do you know anyone or not?_  
  
**Dyl  
**

_I just want to see you living your best life dude, and a large part of me believes that includes Matthews’ dick, for some reason._  
  
**Mitch  
**

_Yeah, that’s a great idea and all, except for the fact that he’s straight as a fucking ruler._    
  
**Dyl  
**

_But if you bend hard enough, most rulers break ;)_  
  
**Mitch  
**

_I’m not fucking coercing him into having sex with me, what the fuck Dyl_  
  
**Mitch  
**

_God, you’re such a sick fuck sometimes_  
  
**Dyl  
**

_Okay, woah. Never did I once say that...I’m just saying, a talk would probably go a long way with you two idiots <3_   
  
**Mitch**

 _We have one talk, and then he never wants to talk to me again. Sure, great advice. Now, I’ll ask again. Do you know anyone who is single?_  
  
**Dyl  
**

_Fine, I don’t want to upset my little Mitchy-bear <3 _  
  
**Dyl**

_His name’s Elliot, and he’s actually a good friend, so try not to be more of a dick than usual_

 

Attached is a number, with the telltale 905 area code of ‘Sauga. Which means that he and Dyl likely grew up together. Mitch isn’t sure if that’s cause for alarm or a safety net.

 

**Mitch**

_Thanks Dyl, I appreciate it <3 _

**Dyl**

_No worries, the only thing I ask in return is every detail of how much of a shitshow this turns out to be_

**Dyl**

_I let him know what’s happening. He’s expecting a text from you ;)_

 

\------/------

 

By the time Mitch finishes his upper body workout; a thinly veiled attempt to forcefully remove his arms from their sockets so he won’t have to acknowledge the fact that _he_ has to text first, it’s nearly lunchtime. And he has more than enough of the blatantly aggressive reminder texts from Dyl to prompt him to text ‘Elliot,’ and the softer, more encouraging texts from Davo.

Mitch collapses into his bed with a heaving sigh, glaring at his phone as if it can make the decision for him. Because realistically, why is he even doing this? What exactly will a fake boyfriend provide for him?

And then he thinks back to the many parties held in the Leafs honour. The way his teammates unfailingly begin to filter out after 10 pm; parents relieving babysitters of their duty, or having pregnant wives that can’t stay out too late. There’s always the core that remained; the ‘young guns,’ slugging back beers and bonding, because they’re brothers in an unfamiliar city that hails them as heroes.

It’s something he never anticipated. The issue with having a young core? The older vets making sure they don’t fuck up any more than their age permits, without the added spotlight of their money and fame.

Except now, there’s an unexpected shift of the young guns into the older core territory, with their newest member being his best friend. And he should have seen it coming. Really. Because Mitch’s jersey is still bare, while Auston holds the leadership over the Leafs, and simultaneously the city of Toronto. It’s really only fair that he needed someone to help bear the brunt of the pressure.

Except for some incredibly naïve reason, Mitch believed that person would be him.

So maybe that’s why he needs this. Because for him, there’s no other option, no alternative to face the loneliness of being abandoned; the solitary young gun. He needs this companionship, this way to belong on this team that means so much to him.

Being left behind hurts enough as is, but Mitch is worried that once his teammates leave him behind, they won’t look back. Won’t _care_ to look back.

Which is why picking up his phone comes easier the next time he reaches for it, unlocking it as if he’s _not_ about to propose a ridiculous idea to an unsuspecting victim. Neither does typing the message, sending it before he can even begin to regret his decision.

 

**Mitch**

_Hey, this is Mitch!! Uh, at the risk of sounding too forward, I was wondering if you were free tomorrow morning for a coffee or something? Haha, let me know! :)_

 

The responding text comes quickly, Elliot clearly replicating Dyl’s speed in returning a text.

 

**Elliot**

_Haha no worries man, Dyl told me you were hot anyways, so I’m down ;) When and where?_

 

Mitch, attempts, and obviously fails, at containing his smirk. He can’t wait to bring this up to Davo on their next facetime chat.

 

**Mitch**

_Awesome ;) I was thinking a café called Mortar and Petal, it’s near dt. For 10 am?_

**Elliot**

_Works for me. See you soon ;)_

 

\-----/-----

 

**Aus <3**

_Come over to mine loser, I haven’t kicked ur ass in cod in a week, don’t want you thinking you’re good or anything ;)_

 

The text comes in between his battle with his closet, its contents strewn across his bed as he frantically looks through all of his shirts for one that he deems appropriate for the next morning. Because even if he is attempting to get someone to willingly fake-date him, he at least wants to make a good first impression.

He’s still deciding between the teal button up and the grey v-neck as he reaches over for his phone.

 

**Mitch**

_Can’t, going on a date tomorrow morning_

**Aus <3**

_hah, don’t forget to bring your own controller fucker, I’m not letting you break any more of mine in ur little bitchfits_

**Mitch**

_Aus I’m serious, I can’t come, I have a date._ _  
_

 

The read notification appears, and a few seconds go by without the ‘...’ bubble popping up. Their chat is quiet for a few moments, and Mitch is about to return to his insufferable task when his phone buzzes with an incoming call from the end-all-be-all crush himself.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Are the first rushed words that Mitch hears once he picks up. “About the date?”  
  
“Of course I am, why is that so hard to believe?!” Mitch voice takes on a shrill note near the end that he’s distinctly not proud of. 

Auston’s sigh on the other end pretty much confirms his thoughts. “Mitchy, I’m not--that’s not what I meant. I’m, um, happy for you,” Auston’s voice sounds muffled, as if he’s speaking away from the microphone. “It should be fun.”

“Aw, thanks buddy,” Mitch forces out with manufactured happiness, ignoring the pang in his chest that desperately wishes it was instead a date with Auston he was preparing for.

“So, like, do you need me to give you a lift there, or something?” Auston words are weirdly stilted, and Mitch’s brow furrows for a moment in confusion, before he begins to laugh.

“Dude, I can drive there myself, I’m not gonna get fucking kidnapped,” Mitch’s pauses are prominent as he attempts to deliver the sentence through his chuckles.

Still, Mitch can’t deny that Auston’s concern is adorable; even if it’s mildly offending in the sense that Auston thinks he can’t look after himself. Mitch isn’t going to get catfished. Truthfully, if anyone’s getting catfished in this scenario, it’s Elliot.

“Shut up,” Auston grumbles petulantly in response. “You never know…  can you just, like, I don’t know, message me once you get there or some shit so I know you’re okay?”

Mitch is more than thankful for the shirt in his hand, because when he balls it in his hand and shoves it into his mouth, the screamed ‘aw’ is mostly muffled. Mostly. This boy needs to stop playing with his feelings. Especially without knowing he’s doing it. Shit’s unfair.

What’s also unfair is the fact that the button down has been forcefully removed from his selection for obvious reasons, but hey, at least he still has a closet full of now-wrinkled clothes to choose from.

“Aus, your feelings are showing,” Mitch states happily, once he’s gotten himself (mostly) under control. It’s without an edge of humour, the softness in his voice overpowering any urge to chirp Auston at his admittedly rare showing of genuine concern for the people around him, normally carefully hidden under his cool exterior.

“Yeah, yeah,” Auston bats the idea away. “So, are you _sure_ there’s no way I can convince you to come over? Date’s not until tomorrow.”

Mitch sighs, looking over the mess of his room. It’d be a fucking miracle if he could even find a shirt at this point. And Auston, sensing Mitch’s resolve wavering with that recurring Mitch spidey sense, goes in for the kill.

“Because I think I saw some of that biohazardous waste material on my counter from when we hung out yesterday,” Auston hums innocently, as if he has no idea of what effect that’ll have on Mitch.

Because, predictably, it fills Mitch with a rage that’s nearly palpable. “You fucking…   _fuck_ ,” Mitch seethes, to Auston’s snickering over the phone, “you insult my Coffee Crisps again, and we’re throwing hands, I swear to god.”

“If you could reach, sure,” Auston chirps, still breathless from his snickering. “You coming over, then?”

Throwing the v-neck in his hands with a huff, he slumps down on his bed. “Nah, I don’t think so, I still have to figure out what the fuck I’m wearing tomorrow.”

“Because a first impression is important.”

“Exactly!” Mitch responds enthusiastically, even though he’d be stupid if he didn’t detect the very obvious strain of sarcasm in Auston’s words. “Oh, wait, do you mind if I get your opinion?” He might as well since he already has Auston on the line, so he won’t have to suffer through awkward mirror selfies the next morning.

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Auston stutters, and Mitch nearly laughs, but doesn’t because he’s a good bro. There’s also the fact that he still needs Auston’s help, and isn’t dumb enough to alienate free opinions from people he cares about.

“Okay, so my main options are a button down and a v neck, but I can’t really decide on either. Say you were on a date, which would catch your eye more?”

“Uh, either would probably work,” Auston speaks slowly, sounding confused at the idea of dressing to impress.

“No, I need specifics!” Mitch yells over the microphone in frustration.

“Well, what’s your angle? Are you going for mature, or soft and cuddly?”

“I don’t actually know?” Mitch questions with a higher pitch in his voice. “I just want to look, I don’t know, confident,” Mitch words surprise him with how raw they are; but Auston knows his flaws, for better or worse. He knows Mitch, like no one else does.

“Confidence with you has nothing to do with what you’re wearing. You should smile, like you always do. You always look…   _confident,_ when you smile like that. It makes everyone feel good around you.” And it’s as if he hears the rawness in Mitch’s voice, because his own has dropped; a rough, vulnerable tinge to his voice that sends Mitch’s stomach clenching. “Just be your natural self, there’s no way they won’t love you.”

Mitch shouldn’t be tearing up over this. It’s humiliating at this point.

“Thanks Aus, I appreciate you as a person,” he chokes out, throat already tight with the effort of suppressing his Auston-induced emotions.

“No problem Mitchy; but seriously, I want you to text me, okay? No matter how early.” Auston’s voice is weird, most likely a masked effort at his shock of Mitch actually having a date. Well, that makes two of them. “But I…  I hope you have a really good time. And if not, let me know whose ass I have to kick,” his tone is joking, but Mitch is afraid of Auston’s will to follow through on his promises.

“Thanks dad,” Mitch responds to the joking tone, not even attempting to muffle the blatant affection his voice practically oozes.

Auston’s short laugh makes his stupid joke all worth it. “Mitch, please, for my sanity, never call me dad again.”

 

\------/-----

 

**Thursday**

When he walks into Mortar and Petal at 9:45 the next morning, he marvels at the vision of it during the day. Because without the suffocating darkness of a winter night, the panels of artwork along the walls glimmer with the glare of the sun.

Everything just seems brighter. Livelier. And with that, Mitch knows he’s made the right decision in coming here on the first date. There’s nowhere he’d feel more comfortable. Except Auston’s apartment. But, for extremely evident reasons, that’s a horrible idea.

He’s scouting for a more private table than the one that he and Auston usually share, because there’s a strange niggling in his stomach that persists at the thought of bringing someone else to _their_ table. It’s unoccupied, and oh-so-ready to be taken, but Mitch can’t bring himself to do it, instead settling for a booth in the corner of the café, near the bar.

“Well I’ll be,” he hears a distinct voice drawl from behind him. “Is it already Tuesday, or am I just losing my marbles?”

Turning around, he smiles at Darlene widely, while dropping his jacket into the narrow booth. “Nope, it’s a surprise visit,” he says with a smile.

“Oh honey, you shouldn’t have,” Darlene catches onto his joke, clasping a hand over her heart; the jerking motion sending her glasses into an even more crooked position from where they’re sat on her nose. “Are you here by yourself? Where’s your boy?” She questions distractedly as she looks over Mitch’s shoulder.

She must be talking about Auston. His heart sinks at the thought.

“Nah, he’s not here,” he says, smothering the ache in his chest. “I’m actually here on a date, if you must know,” he states in a faux-aloof tone.

Darlene smiles wildly, the whiteness of her teeth visible in the natural light. It’s another thing that Mitch has never noticed before, the perfectly white straightness of her teeth, or the small freckles on her nose as a result of age and the sun.

“Oh, you heartbreaker, you,” she smirks, guffawing at her own joke. “I don’t want nobody crying in my café, you hear?” She winks in humour, and Mitch can’t help but laugh along.

“No promises,” he plays along.

“Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime, a hot chocolate maybe?” She guesses, smirking slyly at Mitch’s quick responding nod. “And can I get anything started for your lovely date?”

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Mitch the way she purposefully omits a gender for his date. An uncontrollable, soft smile spreads across his features. He fucking loves this woman so much.

“I’m not sure, he’ll be here soon, though,” Mitch says fondly, not even realizing that he’s dropping one of his most sacred secrets to a woman who was once a stranger, but has become so much more than that in such a short period of time. “Thanks, Darlene,” he says, hoping she understands all that he’s thanking her for.

Her features soften as well, and she reaches over to softly pinch his cheek. “Oh, you’re welcome darlin’, I hope he’s half as sweet as you are,” the words are spoken softly, motherly, and it does wonders in repressing his nerves and anxiety.

As she wobbles away to begin his hot chocolate, he pulls out his phone, giving his hands something to do while he waits on Elliot.

 

**Mitch**

_Just got to Mortar and Petal, still alive!! :)_

 

The responding text comes seconds later, as if Auston was actually waiting on his texts. But then Mitch’s brought to reality when he considers that Auston was probably already texting Sugar Tits.

Ugh.

 

**Aus <3**

_You’re taking him to Mortar and Petal?_

 

Mitch’s eyebrows furrow at the text, confused at that’s what Auston’s choosing to respond to. Not the fact that, y’know, Mitch isn't currently dead in a ditch.

 

**Mitch**

_Yeah? Is that okay?_

 

The next response takes longer, verging on five minutes. Presumably because Auston and Sugar Tits are discussing how else they can disgustingly bone and show it in their eyes every time they’re around Mitch.

Probably.

 

**Aus <3 **

_Of course. Have fun._

 

“Hey,” is the cool, calm voice that interrupts Mitch’s thoughts of Auston’s uncharacteristically brusque text. It’s what prompts him to slip his phone into his pocket, and smile up at the guy in front of him.

“Elliot?” He questions brightly, taking care to make sure it actually is him, and not a fan.

“Mitch,” is his cheeky response, smirking to reveal a perfect set of white teeth, definitely the result of braces.

And he’s hot. Really hot, in the ‘hipster wandering Queen West and taking artsy photos in graffiti alley’ kind of way. From here, Mitch can see he has a height advantage on him, which is definitely an added plus. So are the auburn curls haloing around his head, complimenting his almond shaped olive irises. There’s mischief in them, an alluring sense of danger, and Mitch is already in.

His mind races, and he can already envision showing up to a Leaf’s event with Elliot at his side.

“Did I keep you waiting long?” Elliot asks easily, sliding into the booth with the confidence Mitch so desperately wishes he possessed this morning.

“Nah, you’re fine,” Mitch smiles, mentally propelling through conversation topics in an attempt to not overwhelm Elliot with his insane proposition.

Thankfully, Darlene chooses that moment to intervene, setting down Mitch’s hot chocolate as well as a chocolate brownie, dressed with whipped cream and caramel sauce, placing it between them with two forks.

“Thanks Darlene,” he smiles radiantly at her.

“Oh hush darlin’, it’s nothing much,” then, turning to Elliot, she smiles welcomingly. “I don’t think we’ve met Suga’, the name’s Darlene.”

Elliot grins back, cranking up the charm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Elliot.”

At his statement, Darlene’s head whips back to Mitch, and the glee in her expression is irrefutable. “As if this couldn’t get any more interesting. _Two_ heartbreakers, oh boy,” she cackles, adjusting her glasses from where they’ve teetered off the bridge of her nose.

Elliot glances over to Mitch with the same heart-stopping grin, and Mitch is helpless to his own small smile. Because it ticks off a box on a list that Mitch wasn’t even sure he was keeping track of. Elliot treats Darlene well. That has to count for something, at least.

“Sorry, sorry, I hate to interrupt, but is there anything I can get you to drink?” The question is directed over at Elliot, who chooses to break eye contact with Mitch to look over at Darlene.

“I’ll have a mint tea, thanks,” he says with the same enchanting smirk.

“You sure you don’t want a hot chocolate? They make the best ones here,” Mitch hedges with a grin, gesturing down to the mouth-watering hot chocolate sat in front of him.

“Nah, I can’t,” Elliot laughs, “I’m not a huge fan of chocolate.”

The dismissal dims Mitch’s smile slightly, even though it realistically shouldn’t. Elliot’s allowed to not like chocolate, it’s fine.

Except there’s a niggling voice in his head that reminds him Auston would have already caved by now, and he banishes it with a mental sweep. It doesn’t matter anyway, because he’s not here with Auston, he’s here with someone else. Someone who’s actually _interested_ in him.

“So, I have a proposition for you,” Mitch begins, getting back down to business once Darlene moves away to fetch Elliot’s tea.

And strangely enough, Elliot laughs in response. “Yeah, Dyl said you might.”

The statement shocks him into silence for a few moments. There’s no way. No way that Dylan could have predicted his plan. Or, maybe his fucking cock-blocking crush is just that glaringly obvious. “Anything else he had to say?” Mitch questions, trying for an amused tone to edge the annoyance out of his voice.

“He also said that whatever you wanted me to do, I shouldn’t do it for free,” Elliot responds slyly with a wink.

Which means at least Elliot has a sense of humour. It should be fine. Everything will be fine.

 

\------/-----

 

“You’re fucking joking,” is Elliot’s dumbfounded reply to Mitch’s proposition, taking a sip out of his now lukewarm tea.

“Wish I was,” Mitch cringes.

“Okay, just, like, give me a second,” Elliot speaks slowly, holding up his hand. But, he’s not shooting down Mitch immediately, which bodes well for Mitch’s chances of success.

As Elliot works through his thoughts, Mitch watches on in interest, following the way his lips slightly purse endearingly in thought, or the way his tongue darts out to moisten his full lips. There’s just so much to notice about Elliot, he’s someone that seems to command a space, demanding attention without having to utter a word.

And the most important thing? He’s not Auston. Is so far from being the sometimes reserved, yet consistently sarcastic best friend that Mitch can’t quite get over. Elliot is easy, extroverted, where Auston is complicated and content to sit back.

“Just so we’re clear,” Elliot states, ripping the both of them out of their inner battles. “You want me to fake date you, correct?”

“Correct,” Mitch responds earnestly, nodding his head.

“Alright, I just need to know why, you have to at least give me that,” Elliot pushes.

Mitch ponders his statement for a moment, contemplating whether he should lie or be truthful. “I’m just--I’m lonely, okay? Everyone on the team has someone to bring to events, and I never do. And, I don’t know, I want to pretend that everything’s okay? For one night at least,” Mitch’s eyes are averted as he says his piece, the brutal honesty in his words carving little splinters of ice into the flesh of his throat as they slip out.

Elliot’s quiet for a moment, processing his words. “I guess money and fame can’t buy you everything, huh,” his quiet tone isn’t judgmental, just matter-of-fact. When Mitch raises his eyes again, there’s a wisp of understanding that passes through the both of them, and Elliot nods. “Alright, I’m in,” he states determinedly.

“Dude,” Mitch breathes out in relief, “thank you, fuck.”

Elliot snickers, the humour fighting through the daze their insane conversation has generated. “I can’t say it’s a completely selfless act; I gotta eat too, y’know,” he says with the same little smirk that Mitch is growing to love more and more.

And of course, the money. Mitch can’t deny that Dylan admittedly did him a solid by mentioning payment. If not, he isn’t sure that he and Elliot would still be having this conversation, realistically.

“For sure, how much should I pay you?” Mitch inquires seriously.

“Uh, I don’t know what a price point for being a fake boyfriend would be, man,” Elliot laughs nervously, smoothing a hand over his jaw. “Maybe, like $50 or something?”

The modesty is not superbly shocking, because he is a friend of Dylan’s after all, and Dyl usually has a good read on people. Still, Mitch can’t help but be outraged for him.

“Dude, $50? No way, I was thinking more of $200, but I didn’t know if that was too low,” Mitch admits, twisting his hands anxiously. He hates talking about money and the amount of it that he has. He just really wants Elliot to know that he’s not a shitty guy as a product of his lifestyle, and that he’s still the same old Mitch, decked out in his highschool clothes.

Elliot’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, accompanied by a swift inhale that he tries to hide. “I mean, like, if you’re comfortable with paying that amount I’m definitely not complaining. God, I feel like a prostitute,” Elliot laughs abashedly as he scrubs a hand over his cheek.

“I mean, you won’t have to do _that_ ,” Mitch stumbles over the word like a blushing virgin. “All I think we need is a couple of kisses, if you’re comfortable with that, of course,” Mitch is quick to add-on.

Elliot glances over him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, that shouldn’t be too much of a sacrifice,” he says as his lips raise in an alluring, uneven little half smirk.

“Good,” Mitch chokes out as his cheeks flush of their own accord.

“Good,” Elliot agrees back, smiling genuinely. “So, when would you need me for?”

“Um, for a New Years party with the Leafs, if that’s alright with you,” Mitch stutters out.

“New Years? Wow, you really like to plan ahead,” Elliot trails off humorously. “That’s like, two months away.”

Mitch narrows his eyes in confusion, before he remembers. Elliot’s not a hockey player. “Oh no, I was thinking, more like tomorrow night? If you’re free?” Mitch’s voice rises in pitch on each question, until there’s an undeniable crack in his voice signifying his losing battle with adulthood.

“Tomorrow night? You guys are doing New Year’s Eve in the middle of November?” Elliot’s mouth is pursed, and Mitch can see the way he’s definitely questioning Mitch’s sanity.

Still, that’s nothing new.

“We’re hockey players,” Mitch explains quickly, “who are all from different countries. So, when the Christmas break happens, we’re all at home. We do the New Year’s Eve party so we can all be together and celebrate.”

It visibly softens Elliot’s caution, an affectionate smile softening the tensed muscles around his mouth. “Aw, that’s actually kind of sweet.”

“Yeah,” Mitch huffs back, relieved. “We watch the re-run from the previous year, and dress up. It’s actually a lot of fun.”

“Alright Mitch,” Elliot sighs over-dramatically, yet his smile still remains, “I’ll be your fake-date to your fake New Year’s Eve.”

“Also, so I think this goes without saying, but, like,take this to the grave?” Mitch isn’t sure why he phrases it as a question, because there’s definitely no room for Elliot to interpret it any other way.

“Mitch-“ Elliot begins in a concerned tone, but Mitch cuts him off.

“Like I would give you an NDA, but frankly the idea of explaining this idea to another soul sounds like the most humiliating experience of my entire life.” Mitch sighs with heated cheeks.  “So please, just be a solid bro and never breathe a word of this to anyone, _ever_.”   
  
“Dude, I know about Davo and Stromer,” Elliot replies, which is actually pretty legit; they waited a whole 3 weeks before telling Mitch they got together. It’s something that he’s still trying to get over, to be completely honest. “I would never out you just to boast that I was your fake boyfriend. Also,” he continues, pensively furrowing his brows, “I can guarantee you that no one I know would even believe me if I tried.” 

“Thanks Elliot, I appreciate it,” he deflates into his chair.

“Seriously, Mitch,” Elliot states seriously, waiting until Mitch raises his eyes to continue. “You’re not the only one playing it close to the chest. You can trust me with this, I promise.”

Mitch’s caught, entranced by the depth of sincerity in Elliot’s eyes, before nodding. He can’t say he’s as good of a judge of character as Dylan, but somehow he knows that Elliot has something to lose as well. Mitch can trust him with this.

“So, we’re doing this?” Mitch questions in finality, holding his hand out for a handshake.

“We’re fucking doing this,” Elliot’s tone is still slightly coloured with disbelief, but he meets Mitch’s hand anyway, shaking it with vigor and sealing their deal.

And when Mitch’s eyes raise over Elliot’s profile, over to Darlene, she’s already watching them. Her smile widens at Mitch’s helpless grin, sending him two overly enthusiastic thumbs up with a wink, signalling her approval of Elliot, and as Mitch likes to think, their plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **JUST A NOTE!**  
>   
>  This is only half of what's happening in this 'week,' the New Year's Eve party will be the next chapter; I had to split up the chapters because it was just getting way too long lol. Also the party will contain way more Marnthews, trust. <3 So, the next chapter will be the rest of the week's events, followed by the next chapter at Mortar and Petal!  
>   
> it's just that ~concise goodness~ getting me every time jfc. bc outlines?? what? :)  
>   
> Hope you all enjoyed!! <333333  
> 


	6. WEEK 2: PART 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Enter disapproving A's!  
> 

  **Friday**

“Mitch, I don’t know if I can do this,” the words are hushed, whispered frantically outside of Naz’s front door. “I feel like I’m going to shit myself,” and Mitch doesn’t know why, but he still glances over, just to make sure Elliot hasn’t.

“You’ve got this,” he affirms encouragingly, squeezing Elliot’s bicep in an attempt to comfort him. “We’ve run through everything, you’re going to be great.”

“I know, but like, what if I fuck up? You’ve trusted me with this, and I just—really don’t want to fuck it up for you,” Elliot sighs, nervously smoothing over imaginary wrinkles on his maroon button-down. “Fake-dating an NHL player isn’t anywhere near the stupid pranks Dyl and I used to pull in school.”

“Elliot,” Mitch says sternly, waiting until Elliot meets his eyes to continue. “Seriously, I know you’re going to do your best, and that’s all I want, okay? Don’t worry.”

“Alright,” Elliot sighs, flattening the front of his shirt one last time before he glances back at Mitch, nodding his confirmation to knock on the door.

Mitch can hear the muffled noise of the party behind the thick wooden door, so he knocks loudly before jamming the bell. He quickly peers over at Elliot, who meets him with wide eyes, before the door opens. Elliot’s transformation is striking, the insecurity melting away from his features until Mitch can identify the same guy he met at Mortar and Petal only days ago.

“Mitchy!” Naz drunkenly shouts, leaning against the doorframe, beckoning them inside. And then it’s as if Naz suddenly realizes that Mitch isn’t alone, regarding Elliot with an intensity that isn’t aggressive per se, just focused. “And _who_ are you?” The question is as much directed towards Elliot as it is towards him, Naz’s eyes sliding over to Mitch slyly.

“Elliot,” he smiles charmingly, weaving his arm around Mitch’s waist. “Mitch’s date.”

They’d been careful to avoid labels, purposefully vague to prevent themselves getting in trouble with more detailed questions about their relationship. Because Mitch realistically has trouble speaking—period—when he begins drinking, without the added pressure of sticking to a scripted backstory.

“Elliot,” Naz repeats evenly, eyeing him critically. And then his expression clears as he finds whatever his drunken mind is searching for, smirking hazily at the both of them. “Well, welcome Elliot!” He cheers, hauling the both of them into a squished hug that leaves Mitch’s face squashed against the soft material of Elliot’s shirt.

Naz roughly pats their shoulders before breaking the hug, swaying slightly as he stands back. “And you too, I guess,” Naz adds on as an afterthought, glancing over at Mitch, who can’t contain his snort. “Everyone’s already inside, partying obviously.”

“Obviously,” Mitch parrots sarcastically, trading small smirks with Elliot. It’s more than evident that the party has already begun, judging by the state of Naz’s pinched eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Naz loudly interrupts their unspoken communication, “I’m _fine_.”

And, Elliot can believe this with no issue; but Mitch knows better. Elliot wasn’t at Naz’s wedding, where he uttered the exact same words before yaking into a potted plant. All the same, Mitch just smiles innocently, and nods, following Naz into his house.

When they nearly clear the foyer, Elliot lightly squeezes his hip from where his hand rests. “Okay?” He mouths to Mitch.

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” Mitch teasingly whispers back, but smiles regardless.

He can feel Elliot’s grip on his waist tighten ever so slightly as they enter the living room, but it’s the only indication of nervousness that betrays his unfailingly charismatic grin. Mitch presses himself closer to Elliot so absolutely no one will second-guess what they are to each other upon entering. Already, they’re catching glances: a wide-eyed stare from Mo, and a shit-eating wink from Willy, where’s he’s playing bartender in Naz’s kitchen, already well on his way to getting completely shitfaced.

“You’ve got this,” Mitch clandestinely murmurs to Elliot, the last reassurance before they adopt their set roles for the evening.

“Let’s do this,” Elliot grins back at him, all irresistible confidence.

 

\-----/-----

 

The living room contains his teammates in varying states of array, scattered into their respective groups. There’s the crowd corralled around Willy’s bartending corner, where he’s already abandoned any sort of standard for measuring drinks, instead free-pouring them to the beat of crowd’s cheers.

And then there’s the group of young guns squished around the TV, setting up the rite of passage involving playing Wii Sports at the New Year’s Eve party. He’s not sure who adopted the tradition originally, but now no New Year’s Eve party is complete without a drunken Wii Golf tournament that has the power to forge or destroy friendships. The boys aren’t quite at that stage yet though, instead shooting the shit as they haphazardly play a game of Wii Baseball, slouched in their chairs.

And then in the corner is the older guys, watching the shitstorm unfold in front of them with a combined mixture of fondness and exasperation. He spies Patty in the corner with Christina, leaning into each other as they laugh quietly, and figures it’s as good of a place to start. He tows Elliot over to them, reaching for the hand around his waist to intertwine their fingers.

“Happy New Year’s!” Mitch calls out animatedly as he reaches to embrace Christina and Patty, never dropping Elliot’s hand.

Christina chuckles at his enthusiastic greeting, wishing him the same, before her eyes drop to their intertwined hands. Sending a quick look over to Mitch, she beams at Elliot, opening her arms. “I’m Christina, it’s so nice to meet you,” her words bubble out with genuine affection, and Elliot immediately leans into her with a one-armed hug.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, ma’am,” Elliot murmurs smoothly, politely, and Mitch can’t help his reciprocating smile. He knew that he and Elliot were going to be _good_.

Christina pulls away from the hug with an impressed smile, and she meets Mitch’s eyes quickly, the approval clear as day. The nod he receives from Patty helps all the more. It feels like validation from his parents, on the team at least, and it means the world.

“You guys see Aus?” Mitch questions, peering around the room for the one guy that he always seems to ensnare his attention too easily.

“Yeah, he was just here a second ago,” Patty nods, adding on to Mitch’s search around the room. “Must have disappeared for a second.”

“Huh,” Mitch shrugs, aiming for casual. There’s a lot of his teammates here, but there’s also a lot of pretty, single girls. He hopes Auston hasn’t already taken advantage of the bounty. “I guess we’ll see him later, then.”

“He’ll be back soon probably,” Christina reassures, mistaking his codependency for a platonic nature, when in reality, it’s the farthest thing from it. “Introduce Elliot to everyone, we’ll be here,” she chuckles while shooing them away jokingly, leaning into the arm Patty wraps around her shoulders.

Mitch nods in response and warily leads them towards the gamer group led by Kappy, who already looks like he’s had one too many of Willy’s generously mixed drinks. Mitch carefully watches on as they select a game of Wii Golf, organizing the group into two teams. And if they’re already setting up a golf tournament, it does not at all bode well for any of them making it out of the party in one piece.

“Marns!” Kappy yells obnoxiously, cutting through the crowd to smother him with an alcohol-strengthened hug.

“Hey buddy,” he smiles back, leaning into Elliot’s hand clasped on top of his hip. “Golf tournie already? Did I miss that much?” He asks with a laugh.

“Obviously,” Kappy scoffs good-naturedly. “You want in?” He gestures back at the TV, where the teams are still undecided.

Fighting off a laugh, Mitch shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think I should,” he replies sheepishly, referring to the previous year when he got too drunk and nearly threw his controller through the TV.

“Probably for the best,” Kappy agrees with a snicker, before he looks over to Elliot. “What about you, person I’ve never met? Any good at golf?”

Elliot smirks under the blanket of attention, and Mitch finds himself more drawn to the smile each time he sees it. It’s wide, much more friendly looking than Auston’s weird quirk to his lips that Mitch can’t help but gawk at. It’s not saying much though, because he’s also inexplicably drawn to Auston’s every move. But, this is a new night for him. To let go, and have fun.

He just needs to stop thinking about Auston every five seconds if he wants to accomplish it.

“I’m not sure how my regular golf skills stack up against Wii Golf, to be honest,” Elliot speaks neutrally, shrugging. “But if you need more players later on, I’m down. I’ve just got to stick with Mitch for a bit,” he says with a cute little grin on his lips as he looks down, squeezing Mitch’s side gently.

It’s another thing he finds himself admiring about Elliot. He’s just as tactile as Mitch, and communicates their relationship so effectively through touches. And on Mitch’s end, it’s nice to be desired enough to be held, to be graced with mindless strokes of Elliot’s fingers along his flank as he speaks to Kappy.

“Uh-huh,” Kappy drawls out impishly, peering at them with a barely-masked look of amusement. “If you guys don’t mysteriously disappear into a bedroom in the meantime,” he winks at Mitch, who flushes immediately.

“Shut up,” he mutters as he smacks Kappy, accompanied by the sound of Elliot’s laughter.

Kappy barely ducks his smack, but grins nonetheless. “Alright, so you two’ll be too busy fucking to play, okay,” he says distractedly, mentally crossing them off his list. Looking over Mitch’s shoulder, he grins, waving. “Matts, you in? Our blushing brides-to-be won’t play!”

At the sound of Auston’s nickname, Mitch freezes under the weight of Elliot’s arm, turning slowly to face him. Elliot surely feels the way he tenses, because Mitch can see him questioningly glance down from the corner of his eye, but Mitch can’t force himself to look away and offer a smile of reassurance.

Instead, he’s too busy scrutinizing Auston’s frame for any signs of a possible hook-up. It hurts, but Mitch can’t help himself, judging the fine crinkles in his tightly fitted forest green button-up. It adds another layer to the deep ache within his chest, because Auston looks _good_ , so much better than good, staring back at Mitch like they’re the only ones in the room. Auston seems to be stuck in his own daze, whether orgasm-induced or not, but he’s gazing at Mitch like he can’t stop himself.

There’s a moment where his eyes flicker off to the side, but then they’re back on Mitch’s like they never left, the darkness of them beckoning Mitch to drown in their depths. Auston’s eyes flash off to the side again minutely, looking off to who knows where, before his gaze settles back on Mitch. He wants to try to track Auston’s trajectory, but that would mean missing his eyes when they come back to meet his. It’s a gamble Mitch doesn’t think he’s prepared to make.

 Auston’s jaw clenches for a passing moment, before it’s transformed into a smile in Kappy’s direction. Their eye contact is severed with an abrupt finish, and Mitch is stuck in the warmth of Elliot’s body; he doesn’t even know how the fuck to even begin to decipher what just happened.

“There isn’t a handicap big enough for you to compete with me,” Auston chirps easily, and it’s like they’re back on even footing, familiar territory.

Mitch is leaning more heavily than he’d like on the grasp around his waist, but he can’t help himself. He thought… he doesn’t know what he thought, but maybe it was that he _hoped_ he’d get some kind of reaction out of Auston, though he realizes in hindsight how stupid that sounds. Auston doesn’t have a reaction because there is none to be had, and Mitch needs to stop fueling that little streak of hope, flamed by his delusions.

“You’re all fucking assholes,” Kappy huffs, and then slaps Elliot on the shoulder. “Not you though, but don’t fuck in the bedrooms upstairs, ‘kay?” He reminds them bluntly, before walking away, leaving the two of them to face Auston, simmering with embarrassment.

There’s a moment of silence where they all blankly stare at each other, waiting for a reprieve from the awkward silence. “Um, who let Kappy hit the bar that hard?” Auston forces out in a weird tone and a forced laugh, taking it upon himself to break the silence.

And that’s apparently all it takes to break the tension, Mitch laughing in a way he knows Aus will see through. “I think he’s had one too many of Willy’s drinks,” Mitch nods over to where Willy is still manning his corner, dolling out drinks to the other partygoers.

“Sounds about right,” Aus huffs out a laugh, “I’ll keep that in mind for later,” he murmurs in a quieter tone.

Mitch wants to question the muted note in Auston’s tone, but he knows better, that Auston would never open up in front of a stranger as to what’s bothering him. The silence returns with a vengeance, and Mitch is haste to break it, before he starts staring at Auston again and ruins things exponentially.

“Well anyways, this is Elliot,” Mitch brandishes him off, “and Elliot, this is—“

“Auston,” he interrupts Mitch, holding his hand out. Elliot meets his hand with a friendly grin, shaking it with a sturdy grip.

“It’s nice to meet you, man,” Elliot says with a welcoming smile that doesn’t seem to fool Auston’s narrowed gaze.

And, Auston better not be fucking doing what Mitch thinks he’s doing. Mitch already has a brother, and he definitely doesn’t need to be classifying Auston as his brother with all of this unnecessarily protective brother behavior.

“Hey, do you mind grabbing us some drinks?” Mitch says softly to Elliot, who nods, squeezing his hip one last time.

“Yeah, ‘course babe, be right back,” and with one last smile at Auston, he’s gone, unfortunately straight towards Willy and his counter of alcohol.

When Elliot’s far enough away, Mitch rounds on Auston, who’s watching Elliot walk away with a falsified disinterest, which means he’s hiding something. “What the fuck was that?” Mitch questions in a hushed voice.

“What was what?” Auston says in a confused voice, his eyes slowly coming back to meet Mitch’s.

“You being all protective and shit!” Mitch exclaims, careful to keep his voice low, even though the majority of the crowd is too drunk to hear them.

“I wasn’t—“ Auston’s quick to defend himself, and then sighs. “Okay maybe I was, but like, you didn’t even tell anyone, didn’t tell _me,_ that you were bringing him, and it was just kind of a shock, okay?”

Mitch can concede that. “Fine, I guess you’re right,” he allows, sighing as well. “But I swear to god, if you give him the fucking shovel talk I’ll end you,” he mutters menacingly, though he’s not sure he’s exactly intimidating with the way he’s jabbing his finger up at Auston’s wholly amused expression.

Auston huffs out a soft laugh, nearly an exhale. “I won’t give him the shovel talk,” Auston repeats dutifully, but there’s something about the amused twinkle in his eyes that worries Mitch.

“You better not Aus,” Mitch warns, wagging his finger up at Auston, cherishing the small, relaxed grin he receives in return.

“But I mean—look, I’m not trying to start anything here—do you not think you guys are kinda moving… I don’t know, a little fast?” His stilted question is spoken with averted eyes.

Mitch groans, rolling his eyes. Auston really wasn’t going to let this go. “Unlike some people, Elliot and I don’t need to connect tails or some shit before we kiss.”

And before Auston can even respond, there’s a presence behind him, draping a drink-filled arm across his shoulders. “Speak for yourself,” Elliot’s mischievous voice comes from behind him, planting a soft kiss to Mitch’s smiling cheek.

“Thanks,” Mitch laughs, gently taking his drink from Elliot’s outstretched hands.

When he looks back at Auston, his eyes are pinched, like he regrets not bringing Sugar Tits to do the same shit with. Though it twinges his chest, he can’t help but linger on that thought.

“I’m gonna—“ Auston begins, nodding towards Willy’s chaotic alcove, before Mitch interrupts him.

“Didn’t you bring Donna?” Mitch questions, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. If it was Sugar Tits that Auston was hooking up with before, he’s going to throw a fucking table.

There’s a moment of confusion before recognition clears Auston’s expression. “What? No.”

Mitch will deny the swoop of relief through his stomach until he’s in the grave. The fact that he doesn’t have to deal with Sugar Tits’ obnoxious attitude is such a resounding relief that he can feel his stiff form relaxing slightly under Auston’s bewildered gaze. Because that in itself is familiar; the patented ‘ _Marns shut the fuck up, what are you even talking about,_ ’ look that he’s received in the past from countless teammates, and even his mother.

But they were playing it low-key. Alright. He could do low-key.

“Uh-huh, okay,” Mitch drawls out, winking ostensibly at Auston. If they wanted to keep things private for now, Mitch could do that.

In response, Auston rolls his eyes and walks away, bee-lining through the crowd to get to Willy. 

Mitch turns back to Elliot and smiles up at him, “well, I think that went well.”

“Yeah?” Elliot responds flirtatiously, holding Mitch in close to his body. “Did I pass the test?”

“Of course,” Mitch lightly laughs, beaming when Elliot ducks down to place a chaste kiss on his forehead.

“Seriously though,” Elliot lowers his voice unexpectedly, leaning into Mitch further for some privacy. “I don’t think Auston likes me very much, he wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

“Nah, that’s just Aus before you get to know him,” he reassures Elliot, soothingly rubbing his hand over his arm. And it’s nice, y’know? To be able to do this with someone without things getting misconstrued. Because in everyone else’s eyes, they _are_ a thing.

It’s just. Nice. It could be amazing, if it involved a certain someone, but. With Elliot, it’s nice.

“If you’re sure,” Elliot begins unsurely, “he was looking at us like, a second ago.” But when Mitch gazes over, Auston’s talking with Willy, the two of them laughing over something stupid, definitely. “You don’t think he’s like, homophobic or anything, right?”

The question blindsides Mitch, because he assumes the best in others until given any indication otherwise. And Auston? Has never given off anything of the sort. He’s participated in the ‘You Can Play’ conferences and has taped his stick with the rainbow stick tape for pride month. Still, Mitch isn’t naïve enough to assume that those acts are some soothing balm for the homophobia that still runs rampant in the league.

“Um, no?” His mental conviction wavers in his voice.

Auston’s never given any outward inclination to homophobia, but there’s a small, but no less commanding shred of doubt that tugs at his confidence. Mitch unthinkingly glances back at Auston, his position unblocked by the rest of the crowd, and Mitch’s lips purse slightly when he watches Auston knock back two shots in a row.

Maybe he’ll have to revisit this at a later date.

 

\-----/-----

 

“So I was just informed by Auston _fucking_ Matthews to put your feelings above mine, because if he sees you upset as a result of me... he’ll do something scary? Like, dude basically told me he’s watching me. And, I should be scared, and I _am_ , but I’m also kind of flattered? Like, how does that shit even work?” Elliot rambles as he stalks back from Willy’s makeshift bar, two new—entirely too strong—drinks in tow.

“Fucking asshole,” Mitch mutters under his breath. “Sorry, I told him not to give you the shovel talk,” he apologizes, his cheeks flushing even more profusely with the combined attack of the alcohol and the embarrassment.

“S’okay,” Elliot shrugs adorably, the alcohol loosening him up as well. “It’s kinda cute to be honest, that these guys have your back.”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Mitch retorts jokingly, rolling his shoulders.

He doesn’t miss Elliot’s playful eye roll. “He said that for some reason you trust me, and I shouldn’t take that lightly,” and there’s an amused twinkle in his eye that captures Mitch’s breath.

“If he only knew how true that statement was,” Mitch snorts back as they both dissolve into laughter, clinking their plastic cups in a drunken cheers.

“Amen to that,” Elliot laughs as he takes a swig out of his drink and winces. “I thought drinks were supposed to taste better the more you drink? I swear these are getting stronger,” he grumbles as he sniffs his cup, immediately recoiling with a shudder.

“I think that’s only true if your bartender isn’t drunker than you are,” Mitch remarks sarcastically, screwing up his face at the distinct taste of both vodka _and_ rum in his drink.

“He’s smashed, isn’t he?” Elliot nods over at Willy and Auston, who are somehow still railing shots like it’s no big deal.

Mitch knows Auston, knows his limits. And he knows that Auston’s rapidly approaching his, not looking like he’s going to slow down any time soon. Mitch wants to intervene, so fucking badly, but he also doesn’t want to ditch Elliot for the root of his problems to begin with. Not that Elliot would know. He’d just assume Mitch was being a good friend.

Fuck, Mitch hates lying to people.

“Yeah,” Mitch sighs long-sufferingly, swirling his drink around the edges of his cup for something to do. “Happy New Year’s, right?” His joke comes out weaker than he intended, heavily influenced by guilt, for deliberately leaving Auston on his own, and considering leaving Elliot.

But Elliot, like the angel he is, picks up on Mitch’s dampening mood, though he doesn’t exactly know what caused it. “I bet they’d still be able to kick the shit out of me if I did anything stupid to you, drunk or not.”

Giggling, Mitch latches onto his words, leaning close into Elliot. “Whoever said being my boyfriend was easy? Now shut up, smile, and earn your $300.”

Elliot catches the obvious sarcasm in Mitch’s tone and jostles him with his shoulder, utilizing his height advantage. “God, I love a man that takes charge,” he moans quietly, adding onto the joke.

It startles a laugh out of Mitch, gripping onto Elliot’s shirt with the force of it. “There are _children_ here, Elliot,” he admonishes in a shocked tone.

“Bedroom, then?” Elliot suggests cheekily, but with a wide enough smile that Mitch knows he’s joking. Though, he can’t say he would be opposed to it, based on how well the night has gone, and how well the two of them click.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mitch gasps through his bursts of laughter.

“Children?” Elliot repeats his own words back at him an unnervingly attractive, smug smile.

Mitch whacks him wordlessly, but glances up to the people around them, most of them giving Mitch approving smiles or watching on proudly. He refuses to turn his head, where his mind burns for him to look. Where Aus would sit, laughing and displaying the same smile that Mitch could never put to paper, but wishes he could, to celebrate its beauty.

But it would be pointless, because that smile wouldn’t be directed at him. Auston wouldn’t even care to look at him. Mitch thought that being with Elliot would be easier, but his longing comes at him with the overwhelming force of a tsunami, dragging his body under its unrelenting waves. Because here, with Elliot, he’s reminded of the hazel of his eyes, and the way they deflect Mitch’s focus instead of drawing him in further.

He just wants Auston to look at him like he can’t tear his eyes away, even if he wanted to. He wants Auston to glare at Elliot and wish it was him holding Mitch into his body. He wants Auston to fight for him, to proclaim his love for Mitch in front of their second family with a grandeur spectacle.

He wants these delusions to stop, because they’re breaking his heart.

 

\-----/-----

 

Several drinks later, Mitch is feeling much more pliable and aloof, observing the scene in front of him with fond eyes. Elliot’s effectively charming everyone around him, a gaggle of people surrounding him as he recounts tales from his detention-filled upbringing with Dylan. Under his influence they laugh accordingly to his stories and listen intently, won over by his polite confidence. Elliot still finds it within himself to glance up to Mitch with a small smile or a wink every now and then, reassuring him that he knows he’s still there.

“I like him, y’know,” Mitch hears to his right, looking over to spot Mo in the same stance, watching Elliot animate his stories with dyanmic gestures.

“Yeah, me too,” Mitch softly agrees, turning his head back to watch Elliot stumble with his words over an embarrassing part in the story.

“I just thought… y’know, with you and Matts,” Mo begins unsurely, before cutting himself off.

“What about me and Auston?” Mitch questions with a tight smile, daring Mo to say anything further.

Because of course he knows about Mitch’s lovesick-disgustingness for a certain number 34 in Leaf’s blue. Hell, with the amount of people on the team who know, and their gossiping nature, it’s a miracle that Auston himself hasn’t figured it out yet. But, Mo can’t be so cruel as to bring it up at the party, not when Elliot is only metres away from them.

“Nothing,” Mo sighs, scrubbing a hand over his disgusting Movember beard. “Just thought you two would be forever single on the team,” it’s a chirp, but a weak one at best.

Scoffing, Mitch rolls his eyes, feeling oddly like he’s getting reprimanded by a parent. The fucking A’s on this team, he swears. Worse than actual parents.

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” Mitch snarks bitterly before he turns on his heel and walks towards the upper level stairs, leaving Mo to stare at Elliot for the both of them.

 

\-----/-----

 

Getting away from the noise and overwhelming amount of people at the party does wonders for Mitch’s state of mind. He has half a mind to try to find Auston, but he hasn’t seen him in a bit, and honestly can’t be assed to set his drunken mind to the task.

Instead, he heads into one of the washrooms upstairs, one that’s surely off limits for the partygoers, but Naz is his fucking _teammate_ ; Mitch can piss in any of his washrooms, thank you very much. Stumbling down the hallway, he finally locates a washroom near the end of the hallway and does his business, patting himself on the shoulder when his aim is on point _and_ he remembers to wash his hands after.

When he comes out of the washroom, he spies an open door with soft light filtering out from it, and his curiosity gets the better of him. He’s walking towards the door without even considering the negative ramifications of his actions; say, catching a couple mid hook-up. However, when he stealthily leans his head against the door, all he can hear is the low voices of hockey commentators on a game broadcast.

That easily grabs his attention, and he pops his head into the room, wondering who is away from the party to watch an NHL game, of all things. It’s Auston, because of course it’s Auston. Mitch should be surprised, but he’s not. Auston hasn’t seen him yet either, with the way he’s slouched into the sectional, lazily swiping through his phone to the background noise of the game.

“Hey,” Mitch says softly, not wanting to scare him through the darkness of the room, apart from the glare of the TV.

Because it’s Auston, he still jumps slightly, but looks up at Mitch with a soft smile, shifting over to make space for him on the sectional. “Hey,” he hums.

His eyes are surprisingly clear, not glazed over in the way Mitch predicted they would be. Truthfully, he seems more sober than Mitch, and he really doesn’t know what to do with that information. Mitch detects two empty water bottles on the small table between them and the TV, and suspects that might have something to do with it.

“What are you up to?” Mitch settles down beside him, feeling Auston’s toes press into his thigh with the way his long body is spread across the sectional.

“Nothing much, just wanted to catch a bit of the game,” he gestures up to the TV, where Calgary is hammering the Pens 5-2. “Hey,” Auston begins suddenly, “did you know that pure Sodium metal is extremely reactive with water, and that if you held it in your hand it would explode due to the water vapor on your hands?” He tilts his phone at Mitch so he can see the slide with all of the text he just verbalized.

Mitch’s stomach clenches painfully when he realizes it’s the same Instagram account he follows for his interesting science factoids. He didn’t know that Auston follows the same account. Auston would rather scroll through one of Mitch’s favourite Instagram accounts while watching hockey, than attend the party downstairs.

Mitch is so fucking soft for this guy, it’s borderline pathetic.

“That’s wild,” Mitch answers in a shocked tone, withholding the fact that he saw the same post that morning before practice. “But Aus, are you okay? It’s not like you to be away from the party.”

And it’s true. This time last year, Auston was downing champagne like no one’s business while wearing a truly obnoxious glittery top hat, practically demoralizing the other players at the Wii Golf tournament. Mitch included, and he was on Auston’s team, for crying out loud.

“I’m fine Mitchy,” he rolls his eyes fondly, pushing at Mitch’s thigh with his foot. “Just not really feeling it this year, stuff with the ‘C’ and all.”

It’s a low card to play, but he does anyway, knowing Mitch really can’t refute it.

“But it’s New Year’s,” Mitch pouts, stilling Auston’s foot, cradling his ankle within his grasp.

The moment feels fragile somehow, the same way the narrow bones feel until Mitch’s fingertips, stroking just under the cut of Auston’s jeans. He can’t bring himself to look up at Auston, can’t take the rejection he’d surely be dealt, so he doesn’t. Instead he stares at the TV, and watches Chuky shrug off a check with ease as Mitch continues his mindless movements over Auston’s ankles.

“He’s gonna get decked one day,” Mitch murmurs to himself, tsking quietly.

He can hear a garbled cheer from the party below fighting through the fog in his mind, reminding Mitch of their existence. Because for all Mitch knows, they could be at Auston’s apartment right now, catching the highlights of a game while reheating old take out. The ease in which they fall into this routine is scary, but not unexpected.

“That’s what everyone always says,” Auston responds, just as quiet, as they watch Chuky create havoc in front of the net after a whistle. “Hasn’t happened yet, though.”

“I can’t believe we’re watching a fucking game that isn’t World Juniors on New Year’s Eve,” Mitch remarks with a laugh, hearing it echo from Auston beside him.

“Fake New Years, fake game,” Auston jokes, and Mitch can’t help but mentally add _fake-boyfriend_ to the list. “Any fake New Year’s resolutions?”

“To lift heavier,” Mitch’s answer is immediate and playful. “You?”

Auston ponders his question for a moment, squirming around like he’s uncomfortable in his position. Eventually his toes wedge themselves underneath Mitch’s thighs, and he releases a contented sigh, finally settling back down into the sectional.

“I want to be at peace and… happy, that’s what I want,” Mitch can barely hear Auston’s hushed words over the residual noise of the party, but it cuts through his heart all the same.

His statement is sincere, so endearingly sincere that it nearly shatters Mitch. Because that’s Auston’s resolution, which means he’s _not_ happy, or at peace right now. Fuck, he feels a barbed stab of guilt settle in his stomach, and it’s all he can do to hold onto Auston’s ankle and maintain the reassuring sweeps of his fingertips.

“You’re, um, not happy now?” Mitch’s voice is small and insecure, but he can’t hide when Auston’s opening himself bare.

“Of course I am; it’s just you and me, how could I not be happy?” Auston questions rhetorically, sighing deeply. “It’s just—I don’t know—I wish it were like this all the time.”

“Me too,” Mitch breathes unthinkingly, not daring to consider the fact that Auston’s peace at the moment has nothing to do with his presence. “I hope I can help you achieve them in any way I can, because all I want is for you to be happy, Aus,” the darkness aids his candor, stealing precious words from him that he never believed would see the light of day.

“I hope so too,” Auston agrees softly, shifting his toes deeper under Mitch’s thighs. “And whatever your true resolutions are for next year, I know you’ll accomplish them as well.”

“You’re like, my _person_ , you know that right?” The words come spilling from Mitch’s throat quickly and without a second thought, though they don’t lack in their veracity. He’d prefer to blame it on the alcohol, but truthfully it’s the most awake he’s felt all night, basking in the warm glow of Auston’s presence. “I care about you a whole lot, dude,” he can feel his throat closing up with emotion but he fights it with everything he has in him.

Auston’s toes are suddenly absent from their position under his thighs, and Mitch mourns their absence for a moment before Auston shifts closer to him, nearly lining up their bodies. Close enough that Mitch can feel the shared warmth of their bodies.

Close enough for it to be dangerous.

“Mitch, I genuinely don’t know where I’d be right now if I didn’t meet you,” Auston begins in an unassuming tone, as if he doesn’t realize he’s simultaneously building Mitch up and shattering him to pieces. “I… I care about you so much man, it’s not even funny.”

And that’s what sets Mitch off, filling his eyes with tears that even seem to surprise himself. It’s the vulnerability in Auston’s tone, the close press of their bodies in the dark room. It’s their midnight calls in rookie year, except now Auston’s _here_ , trusting Mitch enough to share his feelings in-person, rather than over an impersonal phone call. Because Auston knows Mitch, and Mitch _knows_ Auston. He knows firsthand just how many people see Auston this way, and it’s not very many.

This confirmation of being accepted into Auston’s exclusive tight-knit community is a special thing for Mitch, prompting him to raise his arms for a hug. Auston immediately obliges, scooping Mitch into his wide frame and holding him tight, like this is an important moment for him, too.

Mitch can’t even help it, he sniffles loudly in an attempt to contain his tears.

Auston notices, leaning his lips down to Mitch’s ear, laughing so softly Mitch can only feel the whoosh of breath against his skin. “Are you tearing up?” Auston asks him, the grin clear in his voice.  
  
“Don’t sound so proud, it’s not like it’s a difficult thing to do,” Mitch huffs as he roughly wipes away his tears.   
  
Auston pulls him tighter, and if Mitch snuggles deeper into the warm skin of Auston’s neck, then who’s really to know? He just wants to savor this, okay. Before everything inevitably turns to shit again.  
  
“Let’s just say if I actually had a soul I may or may not be tearing up too, if it’s any consolation,” Auston whispers, raising goosebumps along Mitch’s neck.  
  
The soft whisper is lost among the riotous noise of the party below, and it’s a private moment shared between the two of them. A moment that Mitch knows he’ll be thinking about for days to come, so he tries to remember as much as he can.

Until his phone vibrates against his leg. Repeatedly. The first time it buzzes, Mitch is more than content to ignore as white noise between the tight seal of their bodies, but the second time he can’t disregard it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, untangling himself from the intangible siren call of Auston’s body, leaning down to check his phone.

**Elliot**

_Countdown starts in 5 ;)_

Fuck. His fake-date that he very genuinely forgot about.

Shaking himself out of his daze, he looks up at Auston, who truthfully has no right to look so soft and inviting. Even dressed up in a button-down, he looks as cozy as he does when they’re in sweatpants at his apartment, relaxing on an off-day.

“Everything okay?” Auston questions gently, his hand coming down on Mitch’s arm like he feels the strain of their separation as Mitch does. It’s another perilous thought.

“I should probably,” he cuts himself off as he jerks his thumb back to the door. At Auston’s confused expression, he further explains. “It’s. Um. Nearly twelve?”   
  
The confusion rapidly clears, making way for a weirdly pinched expression that Mitch doesn’t have the tools to even begin to decipher. His hand drops from Mitch’s arm gently, subtle enough that Mitch barely notices its absence. Except in the way he definitely does, feeling lighter without Auston’s hand to ground him to the sectional.  
  
“Sure, of course, I don’t want to keep you,” Auston quirks a guarded smile up at him while Mitch raises himself from his seat. “Go get your man, or whatever.”

It’s such a half-assed encouragement that Mitch snorts loudly. “Will do Aus,” he reassures sarcastically. “You have anyone in mind for tonight?” He forces out in a conspiring tone, nudging at his shoulder weakly.

“Eh, I’ll find someone,” Auston shrugs, looking like he doesn’t care one way or another.

“I don’t doubt that,” Mitch thinks aloud.

“Thanks,” he winks quickly at Mitch, poking his tongue out playfully, “and Happy New Year, Mitchy,” he mumbles softly, with too much underlying affection for Mitch’s heart to handle.

Mitch exits the room with a strangled exhale, making his way down the hallway with quick strides, feeling like he’s abandoning something paramount back in that room. Auston obviously, but something else, too. Something he can’t quite put his finger on. Something he’s really tempted to stay and figure out.

Because without Elliot’s reminder text, Auston may just have been his New Year’s kiss. And the thing is? For a second—just a second—he doesn’t think Auston would have minded.

 

\-----/-----

 

Elliot’s holding a fucking baby.

He’s not sure how he got it, or whose it is, but Elliot’s bouncing a baby on his lap, making googly-eyed faces at it that are completely adorable. The smile on Mitch’s face is small but it’s there as he walks up to him.

“Hey!” Elliot beams at him once he meets Mitch’s eyes, and carefully hands off the baby to the outstretched hands of its mother. He slips a hand around Mitch’s forearm like it’s the easiest thing in the world, leading them away to a secluded corner. “So, your A’s have been very forthcoming with speaking to me while you were gone,” he begins in an amused voice.

“They weren’t bothering you, were they?” Mitch groans. Trust the meddlesome grannies on his team to interrogate Elliot while he was gone.

“Not really, but they really did have a hell of a time insinuating things,” Elliot snorts. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were trying to break us up,” he blubbers with a faux-heartbroken expression.

“Shut up,” Mitch laughs easily. “What did they say?”

“It was mostly just guilt-tripping about me inadvertently making Auston jealous,” he sighs out, laughing softly. “But I wasn’t, because I’m here for you,” at Mitch’s guilty look, his brows narrow slightly. “… right?”

“Um, I mean—“

“Oh, you’re fucking _joking_ ,” Elliot spits out quietly, dragging him further into the corner, “I thought I was helping you out, not making the captain of the fucking Leafs jealous!

“You were also helping out a super important Leaf!” Mitch is quick to counter with a pout. “And, like, don’t think of it as making him jealous, when that’s clearly not the outcome,” he mumbles shamefully.

“Oh my god, I thought the dude was just a bit standoffish, but now I realize he just wants to fucking _eat_ me!” Elliot whisper-shouts in a bewildered tone, using his hands for emphasis.

“He doesn’t, shut up,” Mitch swats at him blindly.

“Maybe not, but holy shit dude, I didn’t expect so much _drama_ ,” he smirks at Mitch with unadulterated entertainment. “You guys are worse than Stromer in middle school, and he was a fucking asshole back then.”

“Hasn’t changed much,” Mitch mutters under his breath, smothered by Elliot’s bark of laughter.

He spots Auston walking down the stairs and back into the living room, his eyes scanning the room wildly. Probably surveying a suitable partner for his New Year’s kiss. After what happened upstairs, Mitch really doesn’t want to see the beautiful girl Auston ends up choosing.

Instead, he looks up to Elliot, who has noticed the way he’s tensed up slightly. “So, be honest, who has the biggest dick here right now?” Elliot murmurs lowly, and it catches Mitch completely off guard.   
  
So much so that it draws a genuine laugh out of Mitch, bending him at the waist with the force of it. The severity of his laugh definitely turns some heads, with people looking as if they already want to limit his alcohol consumption for the night. He whacks at Elliot’s snickering frame viciously. “Oh my god, shut up.” 

“Never hurts to ask,” Elliot shrugs, his own cackling diffusing any remaining tension in Mitch’s body.

Mitch can hear the countdown begin in the distance, and he smirks up at Elliot, walking into the way Elliot’s arms automatically wrap around him.

“Happy New Year?” Mitch questions teasingly, running his hand up Elliot’s neck and into his soft curls.

“Ready for me to blow your mind?” Elliot questions as he hovers over Mitch, the countdown fuzzily ringing through the haze of Elliot’s stare.   
  
“Oh yeah?” Mitch grins back flirtatiously, helpless to the way that Elliot’s smile is genuine, that there’s a warm, breathing body in front of him that’s _his_ equal for the night.   
  
“Yeah,” Elliot confirms, reaching a hand over Mitch’s jawline, slowly tugging Mitch closer into his body. Mitch can’t look anywhere but Elliot’s lips, the shiny fullness that he’s about to feel. 

He barely hears ‘two’ before he can’t take it anymore, leaning up into Elliot and closing the distance between them. It takes a second or two to get their rhythm, and once it gets _good_ he can hear cheering in the background. Paying them no attention, his hand slides further into Elliot’s hair, deepening the kiss, and tipping his head back like they’re not in front of a packed living room as their audience.

The cheering then turns into wolf-whistles and clapping, definitely directed towards them, and Mitch can’t pretend to ignore it like he did before.

But you know what? It’s objectively a nice kiss. Which is why Mitch pulls away from it with a small smirk to the cheering cat calls of his teammates, who settled only for a quick peck with their wives. Opening his eyes to the soft hazel of Elliot’s, he blinks slowly, feeling himself coming back down to Earth.

Mitch’s mind wanders again, postulating how _nice_ it would be, to have someone that cared about him, who genuinely wanted him like this. Glancing over Elliot’s admittedly attractive face, he can easily picture that with him.

They get along well enough, right? It could be good. _They_ could be good.

And then Elliot begins to speak, and it all comes crashing down so quickly that Mitch is nearly confused by it all.

“Worth every penny?” Elliot questions cheekily, leaning back in for a quick peck.

Mitch feels himself shut down, his bright, false smile shining as he attempts to regain control of his traitorous mind. He can’t have this, not when it involves so much thinking. Too easy or too difficult, Mitch isn’t deserving of someone who will replicate the affection that runs from his body in waves.

Because he _paid_ for this night. His happiness has a price tag.

In the 5 minutes it takes Mitch to realize he hasn’t even thought about him, Auston’s already left. Another night, another conquest for the lone hockey god of Toronto. Except, it’ll be in the bed Mitch feels oddly possessive over, the act tainting the memory of one of the best nights of his life.

Pulling out his phone in a daze, he’s composing a message to Auston before he can even control his fingers. Reigning back his temper, he manages a bland text that Auston should be able to see through, regardless.

_Where are you?_

He doesn’t expect a response right away, but the three dots show up nearly immediately, securing his heart within their teasing delay.

**Aus <3**

_Heading over to Dayna’s, said she has a new song she wanted to work on. Have fun :)_

It’s the little fucking smiley face that gets him more heated than anything else. Knowing that after everything, Auston still runs back to Sugar Tits? It’s more heartbreaking than watching him make out with a random girl at Naz’s house.

Not really, but still. Mitch can be dramatic about this. And he knows that Auston’s doing that thing where he texts his thoughts without regard. But fuck, does it ever feel like he’s rubbing it in. And, Mitch doesn’t snootily reply with _oh, well maybe I’ll let Elliot fuck me on the first date_ , because he’s supposed to be an adult and shit, but it’s definitely a near thing. 

Glowering back at Elliot proves futile, because the guy could literally make out with anyone in the room, and Mitch wouldn’t care less. Wouldn’t feel the oddly nauseous feeling that Auston’s absence brings. Worsened by the fact that he couldn’t even say goodbye before he left.

Layered in amongst the nausea is the distinct hollowness of regret, punctuated by the dull, never-ending pangs that serve as a reminder. Because his little experiment hasn’t given him a taste of what he longs for; it’s instead magnified his want to a nearly insurmountable level, because he desperately wishes it was Auston instead of Elliot that he kissed tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  I really wanted to get this chapter right, sorry it took a while to get up, but I'm genuinely pretty happy with the result! :) Lot's of stuff happened in this chapter, let me know your thoughts in the comments below!! Seriously, your comments water my crops and clear my acne, help a pal out <3 (Also you didn't hear it from me, but there may or may not be a lil Auston POV for this chapter in the works ;) Lemme know if that's something you guys would be interested in! <3)  
>   
> Also just another note::: this the second of THREE parts for this 'week' in the story, so the next chapter will involve Mortar and Petal! :)  
>   
> Also, I'm on [Tumblr!!](https://fluorinetungsten.tumblr.com/) Come say hi! <3  
> 


	7. WEEK 2: PART 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Hey loves!!! <333333  
>   
> Long time no see, but here's an update for you, thank you so much for the encouragement, and waiting patiently!! I hope you enjoy! :D <33  
> 

**Tuesday**

 

“Darlin,’ I think you should slow down, maybe,” Darlene murmurs in a sort of horrified voice as she watches Mitch viciously tear into his third grilled cheese.  
  
He grunts savagely in response, which is pretty much the only sound he’s made since he arrived at Mortar and Petal an hour earlier. When Darlene took one long look at him and sighed, whispering ‘oh dear,’ to herself as she towed him along to the countertop in front of the bar.  
  
“I’m eating my feelings, it’s a thing,” Mitch mutters, his mouth still half-full of food.  
  
He looks up from his position hunched protectively over his plate, and sees the way Darlene’s eye twitches slightly. “You watch your manners, sunshine,” she warns with a contrastingly bright smile that carries its own edge.  
  
Mitch subconsciously straightens in his seat at the reprimand, and swallows the food in his mouth, dropping his half-eaten grilled cheese sadly. “Sorry ma’am,” he apologizes with averted eyes. “And thank you for the grilled cheese, they were delicious.”  
  
“Oh you’re welcome sweet pea,” and just like that, Darlene’s smile is back with its genuine affection. “Like my momma always said— you ain’t full if you’re sad.”  
  
Mitch grins back at her, even through his heavy fog. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman,” he laughs lightly.  
  
She also sounds like a carbon-copy of Darlene herself, which isn’t so shocking once he thinks about it.  
  
Darlene reaches up to fix her wonky glasses with a smile, until her lips pull down in a troubled expression. “So, not that I ain’t over the moon to see you,” Darlene begins carefully, “you’re about two hours early for open mic night.”  
  
Mitch nods, understanding the slight bewilderment as she stares down at his half-empty plate. He can only imagine what he looks like from Darlene’s point of view, showing up with a pout that was only cured after six slices of bread—and god only knows how much cheese.  
  
“Boy troubles,” he sighs long-sufferingly, picking up his half-eaten grilled cheese and dropping it back onto the plate in distaste.  
  
“Oh suga,’” Darlene murmurs sympathetically, placing a gentle hand on his arm. Turning back towards the counter, she gestures to the bored looking teenager wiping down a countertop. “Charlie, dear, would you mind manning the floor for me?” She asks sweetly, as if he hasn’t done it since Mitch arrived with his glum expression.  
  
“No problem,” he grins back at Darlene. “Am I making anything for mopey over there?” He questions with an amused laugh, pointing at Mitch.  
  
Truthfully, Mitch feels like flipping off the grinning ‘Charlie,’ but something tells him that would earn him a smack to the back of the head from Darlene. Instead, he smiles back at Charlie, feeling the falseness pull at the corners of his lips. “I’m fine, thank you,” he says with a tight smile.  
  
“Just let me know,” Charlie simpers, all genuine friendliness that makes Mitch’s fingers twitch with unexplainable irritation.  
  
Fuck, this must be how Auston feels when Mitch’s early morning energy overwhelms his still half-asleep ass on their way to practice. Though Mitch does it purely to see how much he can push Auston, and not because he genuinely enjoys mornings. Mostly because there’s a certain vulnerability that Auston can’t shake in the morning, communicating through his expressive eyes or low grunts.  
  
And ugh, and there goes his one-track mind again. Thinking about Auston like it always seems to do these days, accompanied by the caustic failure of his little ‘experiment’ with Elliot.  
  
“Why’re ya lookin’ even more upset?” Darlene inquires as she places her apron beside the til, and reaches for his shoulder. “Come over here, we’ll talk,” she says as she leads them to a secluded couch in the back corner of the cafe.

Once Mitch is situated with Darlene across from him, the guilt comes swimming back with the force of a tidal wave. “I’m sorry for just—I don’t know, showing up, and taking you away from work, like, you barely know me and I’m just—“

“Mitchell, honey, stop,” Darlene cuts him off gently with a raised hand. “For one reason or another, you came to me for help, and you don’t have to apologize for that— you _never_ have to apologize.”

And it’s true, as Mitch thinks about it. When he woke up to the overwhelming stinging ache in his chest, it wasn’t his teammates that he sought comfort from. Hell, it wasn’t even his parents he looked to. Instead, his weary body somehow managed to blindly navigate to Mortar and Petal before he concretely decided on a destination.

He wonders if Darlene truly knows how much she’s wormed her way into his heart in such a ridiculously short period of time. But based on the knowing look in her eyes as she reassuringly smiles at him, he thinks that she knows.

“Thanks,” Mitch responds shyly, feeling his cheeks flush as a result of her undivided attention.

“You know, you remind me a lot of myself,” Darlene leans towards Mitch, as if she’s divulging a particularly important secret. “You and I? We’re helpers, _caregivers_ ; we offer ourselves to make sure others are supported and cared for. But sometimes, in the midst of all that jazz, we neglect ourselves in favour of others,” she continues in a hushed voice. “And we need someone more stubborn than ourselves to pull us out of it.”

The unspoken message isn’t lost on Mitch, or the way she’s peering at him with a determination that refuses to be coerced. Mitch can’t do much else but wring his hands anxiously as he gathers his thoughts, feeling her unwavering stare beam into his forehead.

“I’m, um, having boy troubles,” Mitch restates obtusely.

“That’s a start,” Darlene says with an encouraging smile. “Do you mind explaining further? You can be as specific or vague as you feel comfortable suga’, but whatever is said here will stay between us, on my momma’s grave—god rest her soul,” Darlene speaks solemnly, briefly clutching her chest in earnestness.

Mitch nods gratefully, wondering where to even begin at this point. “So, um, the guy I was here with a little bit ago—”

“The heartbreaker? Or your boy?” Darlene asks.

At that Mitch can only laugh, even if his chest twinges longingly at the thought of Auston being his ‘boy.’ “The heartbreaker,” he chuckles, interlinking his fingers for something to occupy his racing mind.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he? I still remember what he looks like—“

“No, no,” Mitch wheezes from his genuine burst laughter at the way Darlene’s face has transformed from a sweet middle-aged woman to a pitbull within seconds. “Elliot is fine— great even. We just...didn’t really fit together,” the words feel clogged as they travel up his windpipe.

“Oh, well my apologies then,” Darlene corrects herself with a satisfied nod. “Continue?”

“Well… there’s this guy, and— hey, don't look at me like that,” Mitch warns as her whole face lights up with twinkling glee.

“I didn’t say anything,” she lilts innocently, but she’s leaning even further on her elbows, enraptured like she knows the good bit is on its way.

“Anyway,” he continues as looks at her pointedly, “there’s this _guy_ that I’ve been friends with for like, a while. And I always thought he was awesome, but it turned into something more pretty much without my knowledge, and now I’m kind of pathetically in love with him and he has no idea,” he rushes out in a garbled heap.

Darlene’s silent for a moment, clearly trying to process the bucket load of information Mitch essentially drop-kicked at her head. Mitch remains silent, but his leg keeps bouncing nervously underneath the table as his thoughts race.

He’s never told anyone that he’s in love with Auston.

Sure, he’s told his teammates that he likes Auston, and definitely finds him attractive, but somehow that’s turned into being in _love_ with him. In between falling asleep together and looking at houses, something’s changed. Looking back, he can’t even exactly pinpoint the moment it happened in the montage of his memories containing deep brown eyes and small, private smiles. It just _has_ , and now he’s left to deal with the meltdown that is bubbling within him.

Because holy fuck. He’s in love with _Auston Matthews_. He’s in love with his best fucking friend.

Inhaling a shaky breath, he counts down from ten in his head, feeling himself steady until he can look Darlene in the eyes and not feel like he’s going to fall apart. Darlene’s already watching him with a deeply sympathetic expression, like she understands the pain of unrequited love.

“Oh darlin’,” she sighs. “That’s definitely a tricky one... and you know for a fact this person ain’t interested?”

“Well, I mean, _no_ ,” Mitch stutters at her statement. “But there’s no way I can know for sure without exposing myself.”

“Of course,” she replies diplomatically. “But there’s nothing that sticks out in your mind?”

Swirling around in his head is Auston’s drunken pinky promise, and how soft his eyes were as they looked around at those monster homes in the sprawling Rosedale suburbia. The way his body towered over Mitch as he hauled Auston’s drunken ass down from the table at the frat party, and the way his eyes pinched when Mitch first introduced him to Elliot.

“I mean, of course there’s stuff, he’s my best friend,” Mitch shrugs helplessly. “But I don’t even know if I can trust my mind anymore, that what I’m seeing isn’t what I _want_ to see, if that makes any sense?”

“Of course it does, Suga’,” Darlene assures, resting her hand along Mitch’s forearm soothingly. “Do you think anyone else would take an unbiased look for you?”

“Well I’ve already told our mutual friends how I feel, but obviously that hasn’t changed anything,” he tries not to whine, but he very nearly stomps his foot on the floor in frustration.

“Nothing’s changed because of them? Or, because of you?” Her question is annoyingly spot on, and Mitch sighs softly.

“Stop making so much sense,” he grumbles, glancing down at the remnants of his grilled cheese.

Darlene huffs a little laugh as she leans on her elbows, leveling Mitch with a fond look at his stubbornness. “It sounds like you already know what your advice should be,” she speaks wisely, nodding to herself.

And, of course he does. Despite what Auston may say about him, Mitch isn’t (really) stupid. He is however, very paranoid. And deceptively sensitive, especially where his best friend is concerned.

“I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but I don’t take criticism or rejection well; like at _all_ ,” he breathes out candidly, the words catching painfully in his throat. “And rejection, coming from him? I—I couldn’t take it.”

His vocalized feelings sting as they travel up his gravelly throat, and his eyes drop, unable to watch Darlene’s reaction to his statement. “Mitchell— oh honey,” she whispers to herself.

“I mean, it’s kind of silly, but when it comes to him, he just has a way of making me forget everything,” he sighs frustratedly.

“That’s love for you, sweetheart,” Darlene emphasizes. “It rarely makes sense, but it always has a knack for throwing you on your tush.”

“Yeah, consider my tush thoroughly bruised,” Mitch agrees sullenly.

His phone buzzes in his pocket with an incoming text, but he ignores it in favour of paying attention to Darlene. The last thing he needs is another lecture on manners that he actually possesses.

Except when his phone begins to incessantly buzz with an incoming call only moments later, he instinctively reaches for his phone. Pulling it out of his pocket slyly, he checks the caller info under the table. It’s Auston, because of course it is. In a completely unfunny way, Mitch can at least acknowledge that his timing is impeccable.

Glancing up at Darlene, he can tell he wasn’t nearly as stealthy as he hoped to be. “Sorry, uh, do you mind if I take this?”

Darlene gives him a little knowing smile and waves him on. “You go right ahead sweet pea.”

“Hello?” He questions into his phone.

“Oh, good, you actually know how to answer a phone,” Auston snipes without any real heat, but his voice is tinny, and far away sounding.

Not deigning a response to the chirp, Mitch’s lips purse at the poor audio. “Am I on speaker?”

He can hear a rustling in the background, and then Auston’s voice is right in his ear. “Yeah, it’s not important,” he says distractedly as the rustling continues. “I was wondering, since y’know, it’s Tuesday and we have no game…” he trails off, clearing his throat off in the distance. “Uh, the open mic night at that cafe you like?”

“Oh!” Mitch says as realization dawns on him. “Yeah, for sure!”

“Okay, cool,” there’s a little pleased note in Auston’s voice that makes Mitch’s stomach go all fuzzy, and stretches an automatic smile across his face. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“Oh, um, there’s no need,” Mitch stutters awkwardly. “I’m kind of... already here?”

He can see Darlene purse her lips to contain her laughter at Mitch’s general inability to function around Auston, and he mock-glares over at her. It’s effective in containing her laughter, but he’s sure it won’t be for long, based on the way her cheeks are colouring with suppressed giggles.

“You’re—what?”

“I don’t know, I kind of just decided to come here early,” he explains, feeling strangely reprimanded.

It’s quiet for a moment, before he can hear Auston’s chuckling on the other end of the phone. Mitch flushes with warmth, but more out of affection than embarrassment, even though Auston’s definitely laughing _at_ him, and not with him.

“You’re so dumb, I can’t believe you,” Auston snickers fondly into the phone, sounding so close even though Mitch still knows he’s on speaker.

“Shut up,” Mitch mutters into the phone, which sets Darlene off with unrestrained giggles. “Great, now both of you are laughing at me,” he groans melodramatically, wondering how this shitshow is actually his life.

He expects another quick chirp to come from Auston, really because Mitch practically set himself up for one, but there isn’t. Instead, there’s a silence over the phone that is evidently devoid of the previous affectionate laughter. He nearly questions to see if Auston accidentally hung up on him, but then Auston speaks up.

“Both of us?” Auston questions slowly, like he’s carefully considering his choice of words.

Mitch’s eyebrows narrow in bewilderment, because what the actual fuck? “Uh yeah, you and Darlene, she’s about to fall out of her chair,” he answers in a confused tone, watching as Darlene fans her eyes with the force of her laughter.

“Oh, okay,” Auston breathes out, and it rings through Mitch’s ear like he’s speaking right into his microphone. “I should have guessed, you two are probably gossiping like old grannies.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we are, thank you very much,” Mitch sasses, smiling when he hears Auston’s chuckles return. “Darlene made me grilled cheese, too.”

At Mitch’s statement, Darlene grins mischievously. _Three_ , she mouths exaggeratedly, holding up three fingers to accompany her statement.

“Kiss ass,” Auston teases, but it’s warm with fondness. “Charmed her into making you a grilled cheese, then?”

“Three,” Mitch quietly corrects at Darlene’s insisting stare, knowing he’s about to get roasted within an inch of his life.

There’s a moment of pause, before Auston’s booming laugh filters through the speakers, sounding far away as if he’s leaning back with the force of his laughter. It’s his high-pitched guffaw, a rarity that Mitch has induced enough times to count only on two hands. It’s so saturated with amusement and just… _happiness_ that Mitch’s mouth drops slightly as he grips his phone closer to his ear so he won’t miss a moment of it.

He catches Darlene’s eyes with his open mouth, and he can’t help his huge grin, beaming over at her with the joy that felt like a phantom limb all day. She reciprocates it immediately despite not knowing the context, delighted at seeing him happy once again.

“You really are something special, Mitch Marner,” Auston states candidly once his laughter dies down, and Mitch can feel his stomach fizzing with a lightness that was sorely missed all day.

“You too— you’re big special,” Mitch stutters stupidly, smacking himself in the face for his horrendous effort at acting normally. “So, when are you coming down?” He deflects quickly.

“You want me to come now? All I have to do is change and then I can leave,” Auston proposes, sounding far away again like he’s moving.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Mitch attempts for casual, but the excitement in his voice is nearly palpable.

“Awesome,” Auston confirms, and Mitch can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll probably be there in about half an hour, then.”  

“Can’t wait,” Mitch is nearly buzzing with anticipation.

“Hey, Mitch?” Auston’s tone is noticeably higher, in a way that immediately ensnares Mitch’s attention in its falseness. “It’ll, um, be just the two of us… right?”

Mitch’s lips purse in puzzlement before he remembers. Elliot. Auston’s understandably trying to avoid third-wheeling. Mitch remembers the way Auston’s jaw ticked back at Naz’s house and is suddenly thankful that he doesn’t have to endure that again.

“Yeah, of course,” Mitch confirms with a goofy, lovesick grin. “Elliot and I kind of stopped seeing each other,” he confesses with forced smoothness, as if Elliot wasn’t at all fake dating him, and that he isn’t currently lying to his best friend/guy that he’s in love with.

Because apparently, the two are synonymous now.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Auston’s voice is clearly controlled, probably due to his aversion to feelings in general.

“Eh,” Mitch shrugs, “I guess things happen for a reason, right?”

Auston’s quiet for a moment on the other end, before he speaks. “Yeah, I guess so,” Auston sounds distant, as if something else is catching his attention. “I’m getting in my car,” Auston says in that same distracted tone, and Mitch hears the door slamming to accompany his statement. “I’ll be there soon, okay?”

Despite the abrupt goodbye, Mitch still finds himself smiling. "See ya soon, Matts.”

When he hangs up and looks over at Darlene, she’s smirking triumphantly.

“Well, I’ll be,” she drawls. “You sure do look happier than when you first walked in. Interesting, ain’t it?” She rhetorically questions, leaning back in her seat with an annoyingly satisfied look.

“Yeah… interesting,” Mitch stutters, flushing under Darlene’s gaze.

“Uh huh,” she retorts slyly. “I do have to make sure Charlie hasn’t burned down the store in my absence, but your boy will be here soon, though.”

“Thanks Darlene— for everything,” he whispers honestly, grinning up at her with a genuine smile.  
  
“Oh hush,” Darlene waves off his gratitude, “I’m glad I could be of help,” she says as she reaches down for a tight hug.

“Thanks,” he chokes out uselessly as Darlene squeezes him with the strength of her hug.

She squeezes him again in response. “In my experience, men—bless their souls—can be as dense as my cornbread,” she whispers secretively into his ear. “Talk to him, suga.’”

 

\-----/-----

 

Mitch is attempting to beat his personal best on Candy Crush when he hears his voice called across the cafe.

“Hey, Mitch!”

His lip does… something, when he hears his name called. It’s definitely not a smile, because that would indicate happiness to see the owner of the voice. Of which he is definitely _not_.

He turns around to see Sugar Tits cockily sauntering towards him as if she owns the cafe herself. He attempts to mask the distaste in his expression, but he’s really not sure he manages it.

To be completely truthful, he’s not sure if he _cares_ , either.

“Hey Dina,” he murmurs, his eyes widening fractionally when he realizes what he just called her.

 _Fuck_. It’s definitely karma at this point, it has to be.

But Sugar Tits, thankfully, doesn’t acknowledge his slip-up, instead retaining her grin as she plops down into Auston’s seat at their private table. Which annoys Mitch a hell of a lot more than it ought to. Because Mitch knows they have no real claim to the table, but Sugar Tits is already fucking Auston; she’s _won_. The last thing Mitch needs is for her to start rubbing it in with her presence.

“So, how are things?” She questions in a friendly manner while she reaches into her bag for a tube of lip balm.

“They’re fine, you?” He questions without much real interest.

“They’re great,” she answers with an abundance of brightness, as if she’s only now clueing onto the muted hostility radiating uncontrollably from his pores. “Just finished a new song that I’ll be playing tonight, so I’m looking forward to that.”

Mitch feels his head tilt subconsciously, and he knows he has to force himself to say something before he stares too long. Before he thinks about what happened during the ‘writing session’ Auston attended when he abandoned Mitch at the New Years party.

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Mitch begins blandly. “I’m surprised you and Aus didn’t come in together, actually. I figured he was at your place all weekend.”

Because all Mitch heard from Auston was radio silence, excluding the game they played together on Saturday. He figured Auston was cozying up to Sugar Tits, and fuck if he didn’t want to open _that_ can of worms.

“Oh,” Sugar Tits says, surprised. “I thought he was at your place, I didn’t see him other than Friday night.”

And Mitch wants to call bullshit, but he can see the wisps of concern swirling around her admittedly pretty eyes. “Huh,” he sounds out stupidly, wondering just _what_ Auston was up to the entire weekend.

As if she senses his brain-fracturing thought process, Sugar Tits nods down to her belongings. “Well, I’m just going to say hi to Darlene real quick, would you mind watching my stuff while I’m gone?”

“No problem,” Mitch replies with an easy half-smile. Because it truly is no problem, in the same way that lighting her stuff on fire in her absence wouldn’t be.

“Thanks,” she beams gratefully, walking off to where Charlie and Darlene are playfully bickering.

Though he’s forced to reconsider the ‘playful’ aspect of the bickering when Darlene whacks Charlie in the arm, a little too rough to be considered wholly playful. He watches on as Darlene greets Sugar Tits with a massive hug, squeezing her in the suffocating way Mitch is all-too-familiar with.

As he peers at the interaction with mild interest, he misses the other set of eyes on him, until he glances over to meet Charlie’s eyes, brightened with an amused twinkle. Affronted, Mitch sits up straighter in his seat, mildly confused at the attention. Really, it’s only fitting that he catches others attention, except for the single person his love-sick disgustiness is directed towards.

Glancing down at his phone so Charlie doesn’t see the way his cheeks are flushed, Mitch seriously hopes that Auston’s admittedly perfect ass is nearly here. For nothing else than to deflect from the way he can feel Charlie’s smugness from here. But also, because he kind of misses Auston. Only a little though, which is as much as his pride concedes to acknowledging.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to wait long until he sees Auston’s familiar frame walk through the door, stopping in front of Darlene and Sugar Tits with a friendly smile. When he sees Auston and Sugar Tits reach into a friendly hug, Mitch’s eyes narrow and avert themselves to prevent further heartbreak. Like, do they not realize how _obvious_ they're being?

Mitch received the message loud and clear the first time, thanks. He has to forcefully lift his lips to free them from the pout he’s directing at the table. Thankfully that’s when Auston chooses to search for him, his eyes immediately meeting Mitch’s as he sights their table. Sending a small, but genuine, smile over at Mitch, he begins to walk over with Sugar Tits.

Obviously, Mitch attempts to look busy, arranging his stuff around him to pretend like he wasn’t boring holes into the backs of their heads at the interaction. When they reach the table, Sugar Tits thankfully begins to clear out, though Mitch is too distracted looking at Auston to notice much.

Because, fuck, Auston looks _good_. And look, it’s nothing crazy, but Mitch definitely knows when Auston has put thought into what he’s wearing. And the soft looking navy hoodie layered under one of those dumb trench coats he loves to wear? Auston’s definitely carefully considered what he’s wearing.

Mitch can’t help but give him an appreciative once-over, even if the effort isn’t for his benefit. When he catches Auston’s eyes bearing down at him with an unfamiliar intensity, he can only flush under his gaze, cowardly flickering over to where Sugar Tits is collecting her stuff.

“Hey Mitch, would you mind telling me the time?” She questions randomly, stuffing her coat into her backpack roughly.

“Um, sure,” Mitch stammers, not sure if he’s zoned out _that_ much staring at Auston like the lovesick idiot he is, or if it really is that odd of a request.

He leans back in his chair to reach for his phone shoved in his too-small pocket, but she quickly halts his movement. “No,” she says loudly, before softening her voice. “Um, my phone’s on the table, you can just check that,” she trails off, gesturing to her phone, lying face-up on the table.

“O-kay,” Mitch drawls slowly— _suspiciously_ —as he glances up to Auston, who’s already watching him with an unreadable look.

Mitch lifts a conspicuous eyebrow to convey his very evident skepticism of Auston’s taste. Still, he can’t find it in him to be too harsh. Because you like who you like, and Mitch is more than aware of that.

Because he apparently _loves_ who he likes, even if it won’t ever be reciprocated. But, it’s okay. Everything’s fine from his position, sandwiched between the boneshow that consistently finds a way to break him so efficiently that he’s nearly impressed by it.

Feeling like he’s intruding on Sugar Tits’ privacy, even though she’s right in front of him, he presses on the touchscreen, bringing the phone back to life. He checks the time, but his eyes uncontrollably lower to her lockscreen picture, which is… interesting, to say the least.

She’s sat on top of another woman’s lap, arms wrapped around her waist as the other woman hugs her from behind. Sugar Tits is looking into the camera with a bright laugh, uncaring of what she'll look like in the photo. And the woman is looking at Sugar Tits with… love, it looks like. More because Mitch can spot it a mile away as a result of his current predicament; but, that’s for another time.

They look like they’re _together_ , which honestly raises more questions than it answers. Does Auston know that she might be cheating on him? And who is this other girl, looking at Debra in the way Mitch only imagines he looks at Auston?

The thoughts are swirling around in his mind, distracting him as he responds. “It’s uh, 3:53,” Mitch mumbles distractedly, eyes uncontrollably locked on her phone as he slides it across the table to her.

“Perfect, thank you,” Sugar Tits responds with this knowingly smug smile that makes his blood boil underneath his skin.

 _You chose the wrong lovesick idiot to show this to_ , Mitch thinks to himself vindictively.

“No problem,” Mitch smiles tightly.

Distantly he wonders if Auston knows they’re mentally having an internal pissing-contest over him, or if he’s oblivious to the situation as he is with Mitch’s unmistakably titanic hard-on for him. Like, Mitch loves the boy, no questions asked, but he also knows that sometimes his head is just as blank as the looks he sometimes shoots at Mitch.

“Alright, have fun you two,” she smiles in a nearly motherly way, acting strangely similar to Darlene, even though Sugar Tits has to be at the very least their age.

“Good luck,” Auston murmurs to her with blissful ignorance, reaching out for a quick hug.

“You too,” she murmurs, barely loud enough for Mitch to hear; but he does, because he’s nothing if not the nosiest person ever. Then, raising her voice, she turns back to Mitch. “It was nice seeing you again Mitch!”

“You too,” Mitch lies, because he’s had PR training, and can manage a grin even if he’s frustrated and has no idea what the fuck is going on.

When it’s just the two of them, Mitch relaxes back into his seat, watching as Auston shucks off his coat, laying it across the back of the chair. _Fuck, he really does look good_ , Mitch thinks to himself shamelessly. So imagine the stuttered breath he inhales when Auston lifts his sweatshirt over his head, revealing a shirt that Mitch is uncomfortably familiar with.

It’s the worn maroon button up that stretches across Auston’s shoulders tightly, that fits him so perfectly it should be illegal. The same button-up that Mitch consistently chose when Auston used to send him outfits in a panic before a date.

It’s his _date_ shirt, and fuck if Mitch’s stomach doesn’t drop at the sight of it. The two of them rubbing their obvious fucking in his face was one thing; but this is nearly too much. It’s personal in the way he previously tried to deflect it from being, and his heart stutters painfully in his chest. Not for the first time, Mitch wishes he were enough for someone this far out of his league. He wishes that he were important enough to someone that they would make an effort, and pull out the ‘date shirt’ on him.

Auston notices him looking, peering back at him with slightly furrowed brows. It must have been hot, for him to shed all of those layers, Mitch thinks to himself when he notices the slight flush on Auston’s olive skin.

“What?” Auston murmurs, sitting down across from Mitch.

“You look nice,” Mitch begins suspiciously, helplessly trailing the muscular line of Auston’s shoulders, accentuated perfectly by the deep maroon.

Auston’s eyes drop to his shirt predictably, and then back up to Mitch, his eyes looking oddly cagey. “I can look nice,” he mutters defensively, shrugging his shoulders.

Mitch is genuinely worried about the strain the shrugging is putting on the stitching of the shirt, so he puts an end to it as quickly as he can. Because he’s barely keeping it under control as is, without throwing a shirtless Auston Matthews into the mix. And he already brought out the date shirt, which is all _sorts_ of majorly uncool bro conduct.

“I know you can Aus,” Mitch says fondly, rolling his eyes. “And you do y’know, look nice.”

“Oh,” Auston whispers, his cheeks colouring further with a pleased flush. “Well… thanks.”

Mitch grins back helplessly, so fond of this idiot it’s nearly incomprehensible. “Pulling out the big guns, huh?” Mitch nods down at Auston’s shirt. “Haven’t seen that one in a while.”

“Huh?” Auston purses his lips, but he understands Mitch’s chirp, if the way he averts his eyes is anything to go by.

“You’re wearing your date shirt,” Mitch points out dumbly, both physically and vocally.

Auston follows the trajectory of Mitch’s toddler finger pointing with a fond sort of exasperation, and sighs. “It’s not _exclusively_ a date shirt, I wear it for other occasions too, y’know.”  
  
Mitch levels him with a look for even attempting that shit. Like, Mitch may be a lot of things, but exceptionally stupid isn’t one of them.

“It’s your date shirt,” Mitch confirms with a forced smirk. “Planning on getting lucky tonight?” He questions cheerfully, attempting to disguise the way his eye twitches at the thought.  
  
Auston’s brows tighten in befuddlement, before he sighs roughly. “You’re so dumb,” he says with an unmistakable current of fondness laced in his words.  
   
“Debra going to sing you a song that makes you want to drop your panties?” Mitch questions cheekily, not fully concealing the edge in his tone.  
  
“That’s not even close to Dayna, you’re losing your touch,” Auston huffs out sarcastically, rolling his eyes.  
  
“You have no idea what my touch consists of,” Mitch retorts without thought, dropping his eye into a cheesy wink.

At the action, Auston coughs quietly, his eyes wide as he stares at Mitch. And like, fuck that, Auston can’t be offended at a mild joke like that when they had Uncle Leo in the locker room spouting half-english nonsense. So Mitch tilts his head curiously, but doesn’t apologize.

Mostly because he doesn’t regret it for the colour it’s brought back to Auston’s cheeks.

“Did you order anything yet?” Auston questions in a thick voice, jabbing a thumb back towards the bar.

“Nah, not yet, wanted to wait for you,” Mitch says easily with a relaxed grin, choosing to omit the fact that he’s already had a hot chocolate. “I can grab them now, what do you want?”

“Oh, um— I was thinking, that maybe I’d get them this time?” Auston stutters quietly, the tips of his ears pink under Mitch’s gaze.

Mitch doesn’t clutch his chest and scream ‘awww’ for every other customer to hear, but it’s definitely a near thing. “Really? That’s sweet of you, Aus,” Mitch says, honey practically dripping from his voice.

“It’s, uh, nothing,” Auston shrugs like Mitch isn’t about to start fucking _crying_ , and stands up. “Your usual?”

Mitch’s chest fills with visceral warmth at the question. He loves that he has a ‘usual,’ and loves even more that Auston knows what it is. “Yeah, thanks.”

He’s rewarded with a contented smile, and Mitch watches Auston’s back as he walks away, muscles shifting under the light fabric of his shirt. All in all, it’s a great date shirt. Perfect, even. Because it looks amazing on him, obviously, but he also looks slightly dorky, which makes Mitch’s heart stutter all the more. Mitch just really wishes the effort were for him, not the knockout who can unfortunately really fucking carry a tune.

He catches as Auston’s shoulders hunch into himself slightly, and his eyes dart around the room as it were a room full of beat reporters instead of what it actually is— a functionally stoned amalgamation of OCAD and UofT students who couldn’t give less of shit who he is. Mitch snickers quietly under his breath at the sight, and is still giggling when Auston glances back quickly, as if to make sure that Mitch is still there. Giving an encouraging nod to Auston, much like he would a toddler, Mitch watches him tack onto the end of the queue.

 

**Aus <3**

_Hot chocolate with whipped cream right?_

 

The text message vibrates against the table, and Mitch smirks down at it before sending the same amused smirk back up at Auston, who’s already staring at him from his position in the line.

 

**Mitch**

_Yes doofus <3 _

 

He watches the nearly unnoticeable way Auston’s lips pull up as he grins down at his phone. Mitch has a few uninterrupted—blissful—seconds as he watches Auston, before he looks up again.

 

**Aus <3**

_Just checking asshole_

 

And then, a second later, his phone buzzes again.

 

**Aus <3**

_ <3 _

 

Mitch is pretty sure his soul leaves his body after that. There’s no other way he can accurately describe it. He’s so gone for this absolute idiot it’s actually pathetic. He knows he’s grinning like a maniac when he meets Auston’s eyes across the cafe, and doesn’t even try to contain it.

Fuck it.

When Auston turns back around to morph back into his usual adorably anti-social self, Mitch’s eyes move to the left, catching Charlie’s eyes, once again. Honestly, at this point Mitch can only respect his tenacity, because Mitch knows, from experience, that he is _so_ not worth this effort.  

Charlie’s eye drops into a mockingly sultry wink from his position making drinks at the bar, and Mitch can’t help but stifle a snicker. And then, as if he were bitch-slapped by some omnipotent being, he gets an idea.

Quickly grabbing his phone, he opens Elliot’s message thread.

 

**Mitch**

_You still looking for dick?_

 

He waits for the response, but it really doesn’t take long, all things considered.

 

**Elliot**

_Did you pay me $200 to be your fake boyfriend and nearly get eaten by Auston Matthews?_

 

Which, valid. Rolling his eyes at the obvious sarcasm, he snickers. Yeah, he figures it’s a dumb enough question to warrant the chirps.

 

**Mitch**

_I met a guy, and I think you’d like him...but no promises it’ll work out. He’s cute tho_

 

Mitch sends a quick glance up to Charlie just to confirm his text, and nods to himself. They’ll look good together, he decides. Just because Mitch is depressingly single doesn’t mean his buddy has to suffer with him.

 

**Elliot**

_Oh yeah? Does he have a nice smile? Is he a flirt, or shy? I’m kinda into shy guys atm tbh. How long do you think it’ll take him to get down on one knee?_

 

Mitch barely skims through the barrage of texts before another one comes through.

 

**Elliot**

_Or down on two knees? ;)_

 

 _Fuck_. Mitch slaps a hand over his mouth to contain his loud snort of laughter at the text, but based on the confused looks he’s receiving, he’s not sure he manages it. Looking back down at the phone only leads to more giggling, and Mitch tries to control his goofy grin.

“Who’re you texting, smiling like that?” Auston interrupts him mid-text, carrying the two familiar mugs containing hot chocolate.

“Elliot,” Mitch responds distractedly, typing away at his phone. Auston slides the dressed hot chocolate towards him, and Mitch pauses for a moment. “Thanks,” he says gratefully, and then waves his phone. “One sec.”

“Sure,” he hears quietly as he finishes his text to Elliot.

 

**Mitch**

_I’ll get his number and that’s all I’m asking him. Don’t drag me into your shit_

 

**Elliot**

_Fine, be lame. I’ll be sure to update you ;)_

 

Mitch chuckles again down at the message, pocketing his phone and looking up at Auston. And for a moment, just a moment, he can see that Auston’s eyes are pinched in the way they are when he’s confused or uncomfortable. But then the expression vanishes, smoothed over by the forced blankness Mitch has seen directed at others, but never himself.

It stings deep inside his chest, and Mitch breathes out slowly, trying to regain some stability. Focusing instead on Auston, Mitch can see that Auston still looks slightly troubled under his masked expression, which brings the sting back with vigor. Because why would Auston even try to hide from him, when Mitch already knows all of his tells? When Auston _himself_ told Mitch all of his tells?

“What’s up?” Mitch questions genuinely, reaching out to cradle his hot chocolate within his cold hands.

Auston’s eyes lower like he knows he’s been caught, and he purses his lips in thought. He’s quiet for a few moments, like he’s carefully considering his words, which makes Mitch all the more nervous. Because since their rookie year, they’ve kept _nothing_ from each other. It’s one of the reasons why Mitch treasures their friendship, and Auston, so greatly.

And Mitch realizes that he’s keeping his cock-blocking crush a secret, but. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out how well that’ll go over. Because Auston is like, this big, beautiful light; untouchable but so alluring that it hurts to keep internalizing feelings Mitch has no hope in changing.

But he has to. Because Auston is _Auston_ , and Mitch is… well, he’s just Mitch.

“Oh, um, I figured you two… y’know, wouldn’t be on speaking terms,” Auston murmurs evenly, shrugging his shoulders.

At that Mitch can only breathe a sigh of relief; that he dodged a bullet he didn’t necessarily know was coming. “Nah, we ended things well, I mean, I guess he just wasn’t my person, right?”

His answer eases some of the tension out of Auston’s shoulders, and Mitch can’t help but be thankful. “Right,” Auston confirms slowly, blinking at Mitch before matching his grin with one of his own. And it feels substantial somehow, Auston’s agreement.

Regardless, Mitch’s cheeks darken because he really does have that much of an obvious hard-on for the hockey god of Toronto. His lovey-dovey eyes are more than obvious at this point, but he can’t find it in himself to care, not when Auston’s looking at him like this.

Like Mitch is someone important, someone worthy of his attention.

But still, there’s a lingering thought that nags at the back of his brain. “But like… you were cool with it though, right?”

Auston’s eyes narrow again, and Mitch is still unsure if Auston is either confused or uncomfortable by Mitch’s question. Truthfully, he’s kind of scared to find out.

“Cool with what?” Auston mumbles, toying with a napkin in the way he never does, except when he’s trying to buy himself time. Scoffing internally, Mitch wonders why Auston even bothers at this point.

“With me and Elliot, and y’know… the fact that he has a dick,” Mitch mutters awkwardly, cheeks flushing as he speaks.

When Mitch chances a look up at Auston his cheeks are red too, his eyes wide like Mitch has dropped a bomb on him. They’re both silent for an excruciating moment, stewing in Mitch’s awkwardness, before Auston mercifully breaks the tension with a strained chuckle.

“Mitch,” Auston says softly, waiting until Mitch meets his eyes to continue. “I have absolutely no issue with dicks, especially when I’m blowing them.” His cheeks are the reddest Mitch has ever seen them, but his chin juts out confidently, as if he’s daring Mitch to say anything about his abrupt coming-out.

And, holy shit, Mitch feels fucking _faint_.

Why?

Because he’s now armed with the fucking infuriating knowledge that Auston also likes dicks, and apparently enjoys blowing them even more. Seriously, fuck his life. Fuck his life so hard.

He ponders throwing over the table in front of them in an immature display of rage, but he reigns in his strange desire to stomp on the ground like a petulant child. Instead, because he’s the best of bros, he smiles reassuringly and holds his fist out for a bump that Auston eagerly reciprocates. They both share giddy smiles, because Auston has Sugar Tits, and Mitch _had_ a fake-boyfriend that he was paying to date him.

Because it apparently needs to be re-stated: fuck his life. Fuck his life so fucking hard.

 

\-----/-----

 

By the time Sugar Tits’ name is called to the stage, Mitch is finished his hot chocolate, and mournfully glancing back at the vacated bar. Sighing dramatically, he pushes his ‘Susan digs gardening’ mug into the centre of the table, his hands fidgeting now that they having nothing to hold. Unthinkingly, he takes a quick peek at the remnants of Auston’s hot chocolate, grumbling under his breath when he sees the fucker still has half of it left.

Mitch really wonders how it feels to actually possess self-control with hot chocolate; what a fascinating idea.

And even though it’s technically his second of the day, he misses that fucking hot chocolate like a phantom limb. He’s sure his completely unsubtle heart-eyes directed at Auston’s cup definitely don’t help him in that aspect either. Because fuck, it looks good.

Auston’s finally caved, getting whipped cream on his hot chocolate like the fatass Mitch intrinsically knows he is, and it looks like everything Mitch has ever wanted in one cup. And then his eyes flicker up to the cup’s owner, and he realizes that Auston himself is all he’s ever wanted in one person. _Strange, how these revelations seem to always come over a mug of hot chocolate_ , he sarcastically thinks to himself.

“Want some?” Auston whispers, leaning across the table to further muffle his voice from the empty silence before Sugar Tits takes the stage.

“What?” Mitch attempts to contain his shock in the form of a loud whisper, but judging by the heads turning towards him, he really doesn’t think he succeeds.

“Here,” Auston rolls his eyes, reaching for Mitch’s mug, tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he carefully pours some of his hot chocolate into the mug. He even picks up a spoon to ration out the remaining whipped cream, placing a heavy dollop onto Mitch’s hot chocolate.

He loves Auston Matthews. _God_ , he fucking loves him.

And it’s moments like these when Mitch can nearly be okay with getting his heart broken repeatedly. Mitch is nearly at peace with it, because Auston being selflessly kind, while wearing that stupid smile that sends Mitch’s heart clenching? He’s done for; thoroughly and effectively.

At least he can rationale it though; because really, with all of this happening, who wouldn’t fall at Auston’s feet? He’s perfect, and all Mitch could ever want.

“Aus, thanks,” Mitch whispers lowly, rapidly blinking in an attempt to fight the familiar burning of his eyes.

“It’s only a bit of hot chocolate,” Auston shrugs in a nonchalant way with a small, content grin that sends Mitch’s mind spinning. “Nothing to tear up over,” he chirps playfully, noticing Mitch’s concealed sniffle. “And anyway— it’s worth it.”

If Mitch could at all remember the English language, he would respond— he really would. Instead, he’s left to stare at Auston obtusely, watching as a genuine warmth lights up Auston’s features as Mitch's brain short-circuits. Fuck, he’s the most beautiful thing Mitch has ever seen, slouching comfortably back in his chair like he’s finally achieved anonymity in the city that is always watching.

But maybe Mitch’s lack of vocal control is a blessing. Because he’s thinking a lot of things in his mind, but they have absolutely nothing to do with hot chocolate. They have more to do with the twinkle in Auston’s eyes as he blinks slowly, drowsy like he’s about to fall asleep. And the way his legs have extended to bracket Mitch’s crossed ankles under the table.

They’re barely touching, but fuck if the warmth from Auston doesn’t feel like a brand against the delicate skin of Mitch’s ankles. And Auston doesn’t move either, as Mitch expects him to. Instead, his tree-trunk sized legs are a solid weight against Mitch as he looks at Mitch through his eyelashes.

Mitch is going to drop it all, _fuck_. He’s going to confess it all, can feel it bubbling uncontrollably in his throat like an unstoppable wave of bad decisions. Auston must feel something shift in the air, because his legs shift even closer inwards, until they’re barely resting against Mitch’s jeans.

“Mitch,” Auston begins, sounding strangely winded. “I—”

The rest of his sentence is swallowed up by the cheers of the audience, and it’s just Mitch’s fucking luck. He jumps at the sudden influx of noise cheering Sugar Tits onto the stage, and Mitch really can’t believe out of everyone, it had to be _her_. It’s like she has some spidey-sense for cock-blocking Mitch’s one-sided fantasies.

Fucking Sugar Tits, man.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Auston’s jaw working again, in a similar way to the New Year’s party. Auston rubs a slow hand over his jaw before reluctantly joining the audience in their applause.

His legs remain a consistent warmth around Mitch’s though, so he can’t complain too much.

“Good evening,” Sugar Tits greets the audience warmly, eliciting even more cheers.

Mitch really needs to chill out, because the clashing thoughts in his mind are really beginning to fuck with him. The annoyance at Sugar Tits, the curiosity at what Auston was going to say, and the fact that Auston’s legs are still around his and he’s _trying_ not to fucking lose it. Auston’s lips are still pursed in that frustrated way as he resolutely looks forwards at Sugar Tits, as if he can’t feel Mitch boring holes into the side of his head with the intensity of his gaze.

Fuck, he really wishes Auston didn’t make it so easy for Mitch to hopelessly gawk at his stupidly gorgeous face.

“I’ll be performing another original tonight,” Sugar Tits begins softly as she does some last minute tuning on her guitar. “We worked really hard on it, so I hope you enjoy it.”

_We?_

This is just getting juicier by the moment. Thinking back to Sugar Tit’s lock screen, Mitch can’t help but come to his own conclusions. And judging by the way Auston’s eye twitches momentarily at her statement? It seems to be something he doesn’t want broadcasted to the audience, either.

The first notes strummed from her acoustic guitar are low— _haunting_ —and Mitch already feels his stomach drop. Fuck, it’s going to be that kind of song, huh? At this point he just hopes he keeps it together after his earlier scare; he so does not need to give Auston any more chirping material. Because look, he’s a sympathetic crier, okay? Not his fault in the slightest.

 

_Watch my bones turn to dust, in the winter._

_All my riches will rust, like a summer lost._

_Thought I knew how to fly, but I’m falling._

_Dreamt it up, you and I, till the morning._

 

Mitch feels his stomach sinking with deep heartbreak at the agonizing lyrics, clashing against his battered ribcage as it goes. Because he realizes he could have tried, could have put himself out there, because _somehow_ —some fucking way—Auston is into guys.

Fuck, he might have had Auston in the ways he’s only dreamed of. The way that would be as easy as breathing. The way that would have made his heart soar with affection and possibilities.

The way that Dayna has him.

And then another thought layers in amongst the tumultuous thoughts in his brain, and its stealth wholly disarms him when it lands. Because Auston—who by the way, is into guys—obviously knew Mitch was gay. And with that information in mind, he _still_ chose Sugar Tits.  

So yeah, Mitch can be dumb sometimes, but he’s always prided himself on his ability to take a fucking hint. And that? It’s a hint if he’s ever seen one.

 

_But just like a ghost, I float by unnoticed,_

_By the one I loved most, the one I held closest._

_But I am a ghost, just haunting myself._

 

He glances over at Auston to see he’s already looking at Sugar Tits with visceral hurt displayed across his features. And it’s funny, because Mitch realizes that’s all he will have of the two of them; his dreams. Because there’s no way that Auston could ever look at Mitch the way he’s looking at Sugar Tits. Truthfully, it’s comical to even imagine it.

 

_And oh my dear, I fear I’m falling head_

_Over heels until I hit the bed,_

_But you and me I won’t ever regret_

_‘Cause in the end you fill my space—my emptiness_

 

_I came across all of the thoughts when we_

_Had only met but I bet what’s inside of me_

_Was always more than just a memory_

_‘Cause you stayed, and now you’re changing everything_

 

He’s watching Auston again, mesmerized by the way the shadows catch gorgeously in the grooves of his jawline. And then Auston turns back towards him, looking at him with a barely there streak of longing in his eyes, so open and vulnerable that Mitch feels his own heart shatter.

Mitch wants to question him, wants to _comfort_ him, but the words are stolen from his mouth as he feels Auston’s foot brush past his own. The instep of Auston’s shoe curls around the back of Mitch’s calf, and strokes up once, barely touching his skin. The action steals Mitch’s breath all the same, as he feels his stomach clench with the affection in the gesture, whether Auston’s aware of it or not.

Mitch is confident that he has absolutely no _fucking_ idea of what is happening, but he tries with all of his might to not make it into something it’s not. Auston’s indescribable expression helps in the same way it absolutely _doesn’t_ , so Mitch is left staring at Auston with a million questions on the tip of his tongue.

One side of Auston’s mouth pulls up slightly in soft amusement, like he knows exactly how hard Mitch’s brain is working, and he lowers his foot, catching in the dip of Mitch’s flexed calf as he goes. The half-smile effectively erases any remaining thoughts in Mitch’s brain, until all he can focus on is how good he feels under the blanket of Auston’s attention, warm in a way that he could never replicate on his own.

And _fuck_ this is what other people see when they look at Auston. Mitch genuinely wonders how other people can handle it when he’s only barely preventing himself from rushing out: ‘you’re so pretty, I’m in love with you.’

He can feel himself staring open mouthed like an idiot while Auston _fucking_ Matthews plays fucking footsies with him under the table. Predictably, Auston’s lips quirk into a small grin at his stupidity. But there’s something subtle underneath the layers of familiarity; an oddity that his sharp brain immediately fixates on.

There’s something like a muted hope in his features, a gentleness in his expression that throws Mitch off completely. It’s a dangerous hope, which encourages the other thoughts racing through his chaotic mess of a mind.

And fuck, he can’t even trust his mind anymore. His love-blinded brain is no longer credible; if it ever was in the first place, assuring Mitch of delusions he has no part believing in. In a rare display of self-restraint, Mitch gently shifts his leg out of the warm support of Auston’s legs, and reluctantly turns his eyes back towards Sugar Tits’ performance. His eyes fucking burn watching Sugar Tits under the harsh stage lights, but at some point he has to start protecting his heart, because he’s starting to realize that no one else will.

He can’t keep doing this to himself, can’t keep breaking his own heart. Because one person doing so is already enough, and he knows he won’t last if he begins in on himself as well.

Caught up in his thoughts, Mitch obviously misses the way Auston’s expression crumbles.

 

\-----/-----

 

Mitch has five different Candy Crush games saved on his phone.

This factoid may or may not be related to creating variety for the time he spends focused on his phone while Auston says goodbye to Sugar Tits, or fucks her on a table in the middle of the cafe for everyone to watch. Could be either at this point, but Mitch doesn’t know. He does _care_ , but he doesn’t know. Because instead of glaring at the two of them like a sulking toddler, he can jam his thumb onto his touchscreen in a wholly-too aggressive way to beat his high score.

And for Mitch, which Candy Crush variety he chooses directly correlates to his mental state at the time. Presently, he’s playing Candy Crush Friends because he just really needs some fucking positivity in his life right now. And the way he and Yeti are dancing their way to victory? It’s not looking too shabby.

“Hey,” Auston says from behind him, enough to slightly startle Mitch, but not enough to lift his focus from beating the level. “You’re fucking obsessed with sugar, you know that? Even when it comes to games,” Auston snorts when he peers over Mitch’s shoulder, his voice is heavily laced with amusement, but he allows Mitch to finish the level in silence.

Mitch doesn’t even deign a reply to Auston’s chirp, instead focusing on beating the level, fist-bumping himself when he eventually does. “Some people use brain games to stay sharp, I use Candy Crush,” Mitch shrugs easily, sliding his phone back into his pocket when he stands up.

“Real icon over here,” Auston snickers playfully, ducking when Mitch predictably attempts to knock off his beanie in retaliation. “Fuck off,” he laughs as he swats Mitch’s grabby hands away.

“You fuck off,” Mitch responds intelligently, smirking in triumph as he knocks Auston’s beanie right off his head.

“Asshole,” Auston mutters half-jokingly as he bends down to pick up his beanie.

When he stands back up, and Mitch witnesses his messy hat-hair in its full glory, he can’t even blink. Because that’s the same hair Mitch saw splayed across his pillow as Auston drunkenly asked Mitch to sleep in his bed and—

 _Fuck_.

“Nice bed-head Matts,” Mitch chirps weakly, evidently breathless at Auston’s stupidly hot sex-hair.

Auston unsurprisingly rolls his eyes at Mitch’s half-assed deflection, shoving the beanie back down over his hair. Mitch, for once, keeps it together, containing the pout pulling at his lips in response to Auston’s now-covered hair.

“Shut up, I know you love my hair,” Auston retorts in a faux-smug voice as he adjusts the beanie.

And really, Mitch can’t find it in him to argue. “Yeah,” he breathes stupidly, staring unblinkingly at the beanie.

A couple of seconds go by before Mitch notices his mistake, and his cheeks immediately flush. Fuck, he really is an absolute hot mess of a human. Auston, like the angel he is, doesn’t comment on Mitch’s stupidity, instead directing an awkward, yet still adorable, smile towards him. And, at least he isn’t the only one embarrassed, judging by the fire-hot red tips of Auston’s ears.

“You, um, busy tonight?” Auston questions clumsily, thankfully breezing right past Mitch’s slip-up.

And look, Mitch knows what answer he should give. The fact that his mouth has lost any of his previous safeguards in the presence of Auston’s rat nest of hair is indicative enough. However, his self-restraint around Auston is also at an all-time low, so.

“Nah,” Mitch shrugs easily. “Wanna hang out?”

Auston’s mouth does something weird at Mitch’s statement; a quirk that isn’t fully a smile, but something that definitely resembles one. “I mean yeah, if you can pencil me in,” he chirps sarcastically.

“I think I can make that work,” Mitch replies with a wink he really hopes doesn't look as flirtatious as it feels.

“Yeah?” Auston’s smirk is coy as he discerns Mitch’s sarcasm, and it feels like a punch to Mitch’s stomach.

“Yeah,” Mitch confirms, grinning angelically back at him as he leads the way towards the exit, more than excited for more Mitch/Auston awesomeness time.

Suddenly Auston’s long legs are overtaking his own on their pursuit to the door, and he’s holding the door open for Mitch like every stereotypical love interest in the pre-teen novels Mitch refuses to admit reading. It’s like he knows how close Mitch is to cracking, and is expediting the process along with his stupidly chivalrous actions.

 _Fucker_.

But Mitch can’t deny he’s nearly at the point of grabbing a shovel to help dig his own grave, either.

“The things you do for me!” Mitch trills jokingly, clasping his hands together in his best Cinderella impression as he passes through the opened door.

“Mitch,” Auston laughs, sounding strained at the edges. “You have no idea what I’d do for you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Whew, that was a thicc lil bitch, huh? XD (nearly 10k, WROW) The songs used in this chapter are: Ghost by Lewis Watson, and Telescopes by Kevin Garrett, which are great songs that you should give a listen! <3  
>   
> Also: I just wanted to personally thank EVERY single one of you who has commented on each chapter/screamed at me on tumblr to get my ass writing, genuinely you guys are absolutely invaluable, and really contributed to me getting this chapter out. <33333 In fact, from all of the love Elliot received last chapter, I decided to incorporate a new character into the story; Charlie. :) Elliot deserves his happy ending, and you'll see what I have in store for everyone (including our dipshits ;D) in the upcoming chapters!!!  
>   
> I always say this, but just wanted to say it again: **I WILL NOT ABANDON THIS STORY, I PROMISE!! <333** I have this story planned out until the end, I just need to actually write it lmao. Uni has been crazy for me lately, but hopefully I'll crank out the last few chapters when I get some time haha <3  
>   
> Again, I love you all so so so much, thank you for your positivity and love, it means the world to me!! <3 That being said, please let me know what you guys thought of this chapter, and what's happening so far! :)  
> 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Thoughts? Theories? Squeals? Bricks? Throw them all at me in the comments below! <3  
> 


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